In middle age, I practiced feeling old, but the real thing has been a rude surprise.
The soul is no longer honored as it once was, but it still keeps appetite from being the measure of all things.
Moralists love to discourse on the hollowness of success; about the hollowness of failure they are silent.
I deplore my shortcomings, but plan to keep them.
Unlike life, when books become meaningless, they are making a point.
As soon as I hear of a right, I want it.