It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.

Now, aged 50, I'm just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.

There is a sadness at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure.

A masterpiece is something said once and for all, stated, finished, so that it's there complete in the mind, if only at the back.

It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.

Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.

When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?