Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?

Genius consists not in making great discoveries, but in seeing the connection between small discoveries.

Why is it that one can look at a lion or a planet or an owl or at someone's finger as long as one pleases, but looking into the eyes of another person is, if prolonged past a second, a perilous affair?

We love those who know the worst of us and don't turn their face away.

I couldn't stand it. I still can't stand it. I can't stand the way things are. I cannot tolerate this age.

Consciously cultivate the ordinary.

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.