Boredom is the self being stuffed with itself.

Joy and sadness come by turns.

Children notice things first, people later.

Why is it that no other species but man gets bored? Under the circumstances in which a man gets bored, a dog goes to sleep.

Suppose you ask God for a miracle and God says yes, very well. How do you live the rest of your life?

The mystery lies in the here and now. The mystery is: What is one to do with oneself? As you get older you begin to realize the trick time is playing, and that unless you do something about it, the passage of time is nothing but the encroachment of the horrible banality of the past on the pure future. The past devours the future like a tape recorder, converting pure possibility into banality. The present is the tape head, the mouth of time. Then where is the mystery and why bother kicking through the ashes? Because there is a clue in the past.

To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something.