No dream ever entirely disappears. Somewhere it troubles some unfortunate person and some day, when that person has been sufficiently troubled, it will be reproduced on the lot.

He read it for the same reason an animal tears at a wounded foot: to hurt the pain.

He thought of how calm he was. His calm was so perfect that he could not destroy it even by being conscious of it.

Numbers constitute the only universal language.

It's solitary drinking that makes drunkards.

It is hard to laugh at the need for beauty and romance, no matter how tasteless, even horrible, the results of that need are. But it is easy to sigh. Few things are sadder than the truly monstrous.

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