Doubt is long-winded. Certainty is brief.
Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.
In the labyrinth of a difficult text, we find unmarked forks in the path, detours, blind alleys, loops that deliver us back to our point of entry, and finally the monster who whispers an unintelligible truth in our ears.
After sixty, the self-questioning of middle age is obsolete.
Curiosity engenders both science and scandal.
Boast quietly, with decorum.