Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind's essential illness.

I suppose I'd have to say that my favourite author is Homer. After Homer's Ilaid, I'd name The Odyssey, and then I'd mention a number of plays of Euripides.

We have a disharmony in our natures. We cannot live together without injuring each other.

A crowd of grade-three thinkers, all shouting the same thing, all warming their hands at the fire of their own prejudices, will not thank you for pointing out the contradictions in their beliefs. Man is a gregarious animal, and enjoys agreement as cows will graze all the same way on the side of a hill.

I think there might even come a time when I would read Virgil again. Ovid's Metamorphoses, perhaps, not because the music goes round and round and never comes out, but because it's an extraordinary picture of ceaseless change that never comes to an end.

He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

What could be safer than the bus center with its lamps and wheels?