No matter how close thought sticks to the actual, it follows its own rules.
If beggars do not hate the rest of us, they are even more abject than I had imagined.
Our vices are attempts to combine self-medication and enjoyment.
Sex is not imaginary, but it is not quite real either.
A sense of righteousness is even more dangerous than a violent temper.
Self-inflicted misery smirks under its crown of thorns.