A Work Of Art Is Above All

We Are Made To Be Immortal, And Yet We Die. It's Horrible, It Can't Be Taken Seriously

The Light Of Memory, Or Rather The Light That Memory Lends To Things, Is The Palest Light Of All. I Am Not Quite Sure Whether I Am Dreaming Or Remembering, Whether I Have Lived My Life Or Dreamed It. Just As Dreams Do, Memory Makes Me Profoundly Aware Of The Unreality, The Evanescence Of The World, A Fleeting Image In The Moving Water.

All Cats Die. Socrates Is Dead. Therefore Socrates Is A Cat.

Nothing Makes Me More Pessimistic Than The Obligation Not To Be Pessimistic.

Shakespeare Was The Great One Before Us. His Place Was Between God And Despair.