From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
The devil is a very big angel, but a very little man.
The momentum of the mind can be vexingly, involuntarily capricious.
The world rarely shrieks its meaning at you. It whispers, in private languages and obscure modalities, in arcane and quixotic imagery, through symbol systems in which every element has multiple meanings determined by juxtaposition.
The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
A man is called a traitor, or liberator. A rich man is a theif or philanthropist. Is one a crusader or ruthless invader? It's all in which label is able to persist.
The more civilized we become, the more horrendous our entertainments.
In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realize it is far more common for men to turn into rats.
It's the only condition I know. Bitter Love, Loneliness, contempt for corruption, blind hope. It's where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new.
It appears history is going to keep happening, despite our hopes for retirement.