The imaginary audience for my life is growing small and silent.
The older we become, the more certain our future.
With decrepitude, longevity has overshot the mark.
I am now old enough to make common cause with my predecessors against my successors.
When love ends, we cry out against destiny. When friendship ends, we cry out against our friend.
An ardent lover often makes a cold friend.
When death comes too near, comedy and tragedy fall silent.
Comedy defends the commonplace; tragedy explodes it.
Sleepy-head is no longer aroused by tragic imaginings.
Was there a little time between the invention of language and the coming of true and false?
English has borrowed from everywhere and now goes everywhere.
Unlike the ambiguity of life, the ambiguity of language does reach a limit.
The nature of language may determine what most people say, but I always speak my own meaning.
Language cannot say everything, fortunately.
Reversing a proposition rearranges its terms, but still keeps out new terms.
History goes out of control almost as often as nature does.
Creative memory is the historian’s most subtle opponent.
History takes place between the Fall and the Apocalypse, with a narrow escape route called Salvation.
If you corner me, you are going to hear some unwelcome truths.
Truth-telling frightens me. Lying confuses me.