History takes place between the Fall and the Apocalypse, with a narrow escape route called Salvation.
The life of pleasure breeds boredom. The life of duty breeds resentment.
We do justice coldly, injustice hotly.
Like other high subjects, the Law gives no ground to common sense.
As a comforter, philosophy cannot compete with a good dinner.
Pain pays no attention to moans or excuses.
The idealist regards facts as provisional.
Some live in a state of passionate indecision.
Bad faith makes the most of every ambiguity.
Bored by safety, the lover grows jealous and exacting.
I am no longer in love, but I still have my jealousy.
In art, a dress is never just a dress; nor in life either.
Every representation, even of an orgy, is a sublimation.
Nostalgia paints a smile on the stony face of the past.
Metaphors convince at once or not at all.
In conversation, everyone sits in confident judgment on the world.
Facts do not give advice.
The etiquette of romantic love is as elaborate as that surrounding the Emperor of China.
The price of telling your troubles is having to listen to advice.
Reclusive? The inner city will secure your privacy better than any desert cave.
The beginning sets the rules.
A sense of absurdity interferes with my efforts to appear venerable.
Comedy distances pain, but leaves signs of it everywhere.
Altruism is for those who cannot endure their desires.
Self-congratulation pleases only the speaker.
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