Fruitless striving breeds less despair than inaction.
Early every morning an old woman goes to the market to curse a grocery clerk, who curses back.
Inevitably, almost everything we say is either quotation or paraphrase.
Fear regulates. Appetite impels.
I read less and less. I have not forgiven books for their failure to tell me the truth and make me happy.
Even a cow creates ambiguous signifiers. The moo of mystery.