Young poets bewail the passing of love; old poets, the passing of time. There is surprisingly little difference.
Few artists can afford artistic temperament.
The lonely become either thoughtful or empty.
We are more tied to our faults than to our virtues.
Psychology keeps trying to vindicate human nature. History keeps undermining the effort.
Without civilization, we would not turn into animals, but vegetables.
Minds will wander even during the Last Judgment.
