...some people coddle their own afflictions the way others spoil small pedigreed dogs with cans of pate.

A lot of people get so hung up on what they can't have that they don't think for a second about whether they really want it.

You can call it innocence, or you can call it gullibility, but Celia made the most common mistake of the good-hearted: she assumed that everyone else was just like her.

My own apathy is bone chilling.

In a country that doesn't discriminate between fame and infamy, the latter presents itself as plainly more achievable.

Funny how you dig yourself into a hole by the teaspoon.

It's far less important to me to be liked these days than to be understood.

But what's so great about being a perfectionist?... You do all this work, and then the stuff you've made just pisses you off.

Giving anyone anything takes courage, since so many presents backfire. A gift conspicuously at odds with your tastes serves only to betray that the benefactor has no earthly clue who you are.

Reading time is precious. Don't waste it. Reading bad books, or books that are wrong for a certain time in your life, can dangerously turn you off the activity altogether.

The Web, the great time-killer that had replaced conspicuously passive television with its seductive illusion of productivity.

In his life there was only one woman. The other one.

wesat theresmokingcigarettesat5in the morning.

Guilt at least has a purpose

If you will read again what is written, you will see how it was.

Getting ready for a global pandemic is every bit as important as nuclear deterrence and avoiding a climate catastrophe.

I have no intention of hiding who I am because I know I have done nothing wrong.

One of the most important factors, not only in military matters but in life as a whole, is ... the ability to direct one's whole energies towards the fulfillment of a particular task.

Religion was important to me. My family and I were very religious. I acctualy believe the work I did was a calling from God himself.

Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.

In the end indignation over kitsch is anger at tis shameless revelling in the joy of imitation.