The desire to create literature leads to frights, grunts, and coy looks.
Awakening in the morning returns us to life, and to awareness of death.
The extravagance of intellect outstrips the extravagance of desire.
Self-pity makes people callous.
Self-inflicted misery smirks under its crown of thorns.
As a child I was middle-aged and cautious compared to my impulsive father.