We endeavor to stuff the universe into the gullet of an aphorism.
If we were brought to trial for the crimes we have committed against ourselves, few would escape the gallows.
With the stones we cast at them, geniuses build new roads with them.
There are those whose sole claim to profundity is the discovery of exceptions to the rules.
We mourn the transitory things and fret under the yoke of the immutable ones.
Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits.