Anything That Consoles Is Fake.

Our Actions Are Like Ships Which We May Watch Set Out To Sea, And Not Know When Or With What Cargo They Will Return To Port.

One Of The Secrets Of A Happy Life Is Continuous Small Treats, And If Some Of These Can Be Inexpensive And Quickly Procured So Much The Better.

It Was Like Hunting Fish With An Underwater Gun, A Sport Which He Had Once Been Foolish Enough To Try. At One Moment There Is The Fish - Graceful, Mysterious, Desirable And Free - And The Next Moment There Is Nothing But Struggling And Blood And Confusion.

Yes, Of Course, There's Something Fishy About Describing People's Feelings. You Try Hard To Be Accurate, But As Soon As You Start To Define Such And Such A Feeling, Language Lets You Down. It's Really A Machine For Making Falsehoods. When We Really Speak The Truth, Words Are Insufficient. Almost Everything Except Things Like "pass The Gravy" Is A Lie Of A Sort. And That Being The Case, I Shall Shut Up. Oh, And... Pass The Gravy.

All Art Is The Struggle To Be, In A Particular Sort Of Way, Virtuous.