The only reason people want to be masters of the future is to change the past.

The worth of a human being lies in the ability to extend oneself, to go outside oneself, to exist in and for other people.

Isn't beer the holy libation of sincerity? The potion that dispels all hypocrisy, any charade of fine manners? The drink that does nothing worse than incite its fans to urinate in all innocence, to gain weight in all frankness?

She was experiencing the same odd happiness and odd sadness as then. The sadness meant: We are at the last station. The happiness meant: We are together. The sadness was form, the happiness content. Happiness filled the space of sadness.

Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short.

He suddenly recalled from Plato's Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split then in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.

Beauty is a rebellion against time.