A regime which combines perpetual surveillance with total indulgence is hardly conducive to healthy development.

It is always easy to question the judgement of others in matters of which we may be imperfectly informed.

Early this morning, 1 January 2021, three minutes after midnight, the last human being to be born on earth was killed in a pub brawl in a suburb of Buenos Aires, aged twenty-five years, two months and twelve days.

Absolute nakedness was intrusive, confusing to the senses. Paradoxically, it both revealed and diminished identity.

Charm is always genuine; it may be superficial but it isn't false.

The world of the terminally ill is the world of neither the living nor the dead. I have watched others since I watched my father, and always with a sense of their strangeness. They sit and speak, and are spoken to, and listen, and even smile, but in spirit they have already moved away from us and there is no way we can enter their shadowy no-man’s-land.

No literary form is more revealing, more spontaneous or more individual than a letter.