The thunder of false modesty was deafening.
I don't find life unbearably grave. I find it almost intolerably frivolous.
It's only after the change is fully formed that you can see what's happened.
This intimacy is not necessary; no one is compelling me to open my inmost self and lay it naked, undefended, against that of another – merely for the joy of the communion.
You put your time where your priority is.
The thought of all that happiness was hard to bear. What's the point of happiness when all it does is throw the facts of dying into clear relief?