Another flashing chance at bliss. Another kiss$$$ another kiss.

Apart from the desire to produce beautiful things$$$ the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization.

The everlasting lure of round-the-corner$$$ how fascinating it is.

We are only the trustees for those who come after us.

The healthy can't understand the emptied$$$ the broken.

Only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand$$$ your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean! Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?

Being born's a hell of a lottery.

Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases?...We see a game beyond the endgame...As Seneca warned Nero: No matter how many of us you kill$$$ you will never kill your successor.

There is nothing in the least special about you. I guarantee you a long life. You have not been chosen by the gods$$$ you will never be at one with your acts$$$ you do not have in you the green light to flash like young lightning with the speed of the gods and destroy yourself. All you have is a certain premature senility. Your life will be suited for coupon-clipping. Nothing more.

Dreams$$$ memories$$$ the sacred--they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch$$$ the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable$$$ the quality of the miraculous. Everything$$$ really$$$ has this quality of sacredness$$$ but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.