If a man dreams that he has committed a sin before which the sun hid his face, it is often safe to conjecture that, in sheer forgetfulness, he wore a red tie, or brown boots with evening dress.
Every branch of human knowledge, if traced up to its source and final principles, vanishes into mystery.
It was better, he thought, to fail in attempting exquisite things than to succeed in the department of the utterly contemptible.
We both wondered whether these contradictions that one can't avoid if one begins to think of time and space may not really be proofs that the whole of life is a dream, and the moon and stars bits of nightmare.
