Only those who still have hope can benefit from tears. When they finish, they feel better. But to those without hope, whose anguish is basic and permanent, no good comes from crying. Nothing changes for them. They usually know this, but still can’t help crying.

Like a dead man, only friction could make him warm or violence make him mobile.

Crowds of people moved through the streets with a dream-like violence.

Numbers constitute the only universal language.

But whether he was happy or not was hard to say. Probably he was neither, just as a plant is neither.

Her sureness was based on the power to limit experience arbitrarily.

He felt as though his heart were a bomb, a complicated bomb that would result in a simple explosion, wrecking the world without rocking it.