Metaphysical speculation is about as pointless as a discussion on the meaning of one's lungs. They're for breathing.
Every island to a child is a treasure island.
What the detective story is about is not murder but the restoration of order.
however long we have to live, there are never enough springs.
The tragedy of loss is not that we grieve, but that we cease to grieve, and then perhaps the dead are dead at last.
I find it extraordinary that a straightforward if inelegant device for ensuring the survival of the species should involve human beings in such emotional turmoil. Does sex have to be taken so seriously?