Lonely people keep up a ceaseless flow of commentary on themselves.
When love ends, the beloved is no longer standing on a pedestal, but in a hole.
The poor live slow and hard; the rich, fast and easy. The rest of us shuffle along as we may.
Fruitless striving breeds less despair than inaction.
Most of us live in a world that has ceased to exist.
The mind scolds the heart, which makes excuses and goes its own way.