If I have not lost my mind I can sometimes hear it preparing to defect

I expect we are all jealous of the women in their past, but how much less exciting if the women had not kept the bed warm.

To understand the stars would spoil their appearance.

She would have liked to sit upon a rock and listen to words, not of any man, but detached, mysterious, poetic words that she alone would interpret through some sense inherited from sleep.

If truth is not acceptable, it becomes the imagination of others.

Because he had nothing to hide, he did perhaps appear to have forfeited a little of his strength. But that is the irony of honesty.

Life is full of alternatives but no choice.