Few friendships could survive the moodiness of love affairs.
The older we become, the more certain our future.
Intelligence in isolation turns to aimless marauding.
The sewing machine joins what the scissors have cut asunder, plus whatever else comes in its path.
The intimacy of love absolves us of our guilty separateness.
Moralists love to discourse on the hollowness of success; about the hollowness of failure they are silent.