Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.

The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

You're on earth. There's no cure for that.

Watt's concern, deep as it appeared, was not after all what the figure was, in reality, but with what the figure appeared to be, in reality.

That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.

Yes, light, there is no other word for it.