We know well enough when we're being unjust and despicable. but we don't restrain ourselves because we experience a certain pleasure, a primitive sort of satisfaction in moments like that.

This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.

If we have anything kind to say, any tender sentiment to express, we feel a sense of shame.

Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.

We cannot bear to regard ourselves simply as playthings of blind chance, we cannot admit to feeling ourselves abandoned.

At any given moment, I open my eyes and exist. And before that, during all eternity, what was there? Nothing.

Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.