The time I kill is killing me.- Mason Cooley
The shades of respectability begin to close about the greying head.
The sage belongs to the same obsolete repertory as the virtuous maiden and the enlightened monarch.
The real secrets are not the ones I tell.
The ravaged face in the mirror hides the enchanting youth that is the real me.
The power of lying is much less than the power of what is not to be discussed.
The passions are the same in every conflict, large or small.
The passion for money is never fickle.
The only peace is being out of earshot.
The novel avoids the sublime and seeks out the interesting.
The man of sensibility is too busy talking about his feelings to have time for good deeds.
The man in the street is always a stranger.
The lonely become either thoughtful or empty.
The laughter of the aphorism is sometimes triumphant, but seldom carefree.
The horse stares at its captor, barely remembering the free kicks of youth.
