Even the most fickle are faithful to a few bad habits.
Guilt agonizes over trifles, ignores habitual wrongdoing.
The interest in Wisdom is fading. Soon there will not be enough left to support the aphorism, even though it tries to amuse by half-mocking the Wisdom it propounds.
With every physical pain, my moral fibre unravels a little.
The extravagance of intellect outstrips the extravagance of desire.
Modernized by tin roofs and T-shirts, Third World poverty is no longer picturesque.