The harp is an insipid instrument--no good for dancing, feasting, or marching, only for sitting primly in a parlor or on a cloud.
Beware of wallflowers. They expect to have everything done for them.
I do not regret the folly of my youth, but the timidity.
One's fetishes are fascinating, but not because of their beauty or significance. The same could be said for one's genitals, or one's children.
Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.
I tried self-sacrifice a couple of times in my youth.