Errors are more numerous than truths, but fortunately too divided among themselves to take power.

Some eras worship infancy; some, the aged. None as yet has adored middle age.

My parents wanted me to solace them for sorrows they denied having had.

My intentions go one way, my desires another. Thus I feel both self-indulgent and deprived.

Birth dates and bathroom scales tell more truth than I want to know.

In middle age, going naked contributes little to public enjoyment.

Truth is a necessary phantom.