The aphorism wants to be at the same time both main line and off beat.
If I could do my life over, I would try to cleanse at least my pleasures of self-pity.
When science drove the gods out of nature, they took refuge in poetry and the porticos of civic buildings.
Show enough regret, and your refusal will inspire gratitude.
Under attack, sentiments harden into dogma.
My mind no longer has romantic abysses, but has become shallow, with many little gaps and cracks.