Nostalgia keeps dissolving the ironic narratives in which I have contained my past.
The avant-garde is now stranded in the past.
Literary tradition is full of lies about poverty-the jolly beggar, the poor but happy milkmaid, the wholesome diet of porridge, etc.
Dreams surround our desires with ugliness and dread.
The beginning of self-knowledge: recognizing that your motives are the same as other people's.
I am too impatient to wait for temptation to come to me.