Frivolous sorrow is folly. Frivolous enjoyment is not.

Imprudence relies on luck, prudence on method. That gives prudence less edge than it expects.

My mind no longer has romantic abysses, but has become shallow, with many little gaps and cracks.

Both faith and cynicism make judgment too easy.

A dense undergrowth of extension cords sustains my upper world of lights, music, and machines of comfort.

Losing gracefully is commended but never chosen.

Reason enables us to get around in the world of ideas, but cannot prescribe our thoughts.