A man who farts in bed . . . is a man who loves life.

I belong to the 8% of the world population who calm their apprehension by drowning it in numbers.

Yes, the world may aspire to vacuousness, lost souls mourn beauty, insignificance surrounds us. Then let us drink a cup of tea. Silence descends, one hears the wind outside, autumn leaves rustle and take flight, the cat sleeps in a warm pool of light. And, with each swallow, time is sublimed.

Personally I think that grammar is a way to attain beauty.

People think that children don't know anything. It's enough to make you wonder if grownups were ever children once upon a time.

We never look beyond our assumptions and what's worse, we have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves.

To beauty, all is forgiven, even vulgarity. Intelligence no longer seems an adequate compensation for things.