I Thought Of The Things

In Those Days, We Imagined Ourselves As Being Kept In Some Kind Of Holding Pen, Waiting To Be Released Into Our Lives. And When The Moment Came, Our Lives -- And Time Itself -- Would Speed Up. How Were We To Know That Our Lives Had In Any Case Begun, That Some Advantage Had Already Been Gained, Some Damage Already Inflicted? Also, That Our Release Would Only Be Into A Larger Holding Pen, Whose Boundaries Would Be At First Undiscernible.

When You Are Young, You Think That The Old Lament The Deterioration Of Life Because This Makes It Easier For Them To Die Without Regret. When You Are Old, You Become Impatient With The Way In Which The Young Applaud The Most Insignificant Improvements … While Remaining Heedless Of The World’s Barbarism. I Don’t Say Things Have Got Worse; I Merely Say The Young Wouldn’t Notice If They Had. The Old Times Were Good Because Then We Were Young, And Ignorant Of How Ignorant The Young Can Be.

As I've Explained To My Wife Many Times, You Have To Kill Your Wife Or Mistress To Get On The Front Page Of The Papers.

Remember The Botched Brothel-visit In L’education Sentimentale And Remember Its Lesson. Do Not Participate: Happiness Lies In The Imagination, Not The Act. Pleasure Is Found First In Anticipation, Later In Memory.

To Own A Certain Book - And To Choose It Without Help - Is To Define Yourself.