The banker rubs his nose, thinking of his cat stalking something on the lawn.

Vicarious living is only slightly less impossible than vicarious eating.

The theme of my autobiography could only be repetition.

All anger feels like righteous anger; sorrow does not care whether it is righteous or not.

If folly disappeared, wit would starve.

I have forgiven you. Nevertheless, begone!

Clouds of flavors and savors float around the thing-in-itself.