Reading the epitaphs, our only salvation lies in resurrecting the dead and burying the living.

We hew and saw and plane facts to make them dovetail with our prejudices, so that they become mere ornaments with which to parade our objectivity.

To have lived long does not necessarily imply the gathering of much wisdom and experience. One who has pedaled twenty-five thousand miles on a stationary bicycle has not circled the globe. He or she has only garnered weariness.

It is not true that men prefer foolish women. Rather they prefer women who can simulate foolishness whenever necessary, which is the very core of intelligence.

With the stones we cast at them, geniuses build new roads with them.

Praises for our past triumphs are as feathers to a dead bird.

In the spider-web of facts, many a truth is strangled.