Behind Everything We Feel, There

A Long Association-prolonged Human Contact, When A Man And Woman Live Together-this Ends Up Producing A Sort Of Rot, A Poison.

Thought Itself Needs Words. It Runs On Them Like A Long Wire. And If It Loses The Habit Of Words, Little By Little It Becomes Shapeless, Somber.

All Of Us Are Mad. If It Weren't For The Fact That Every One Of Us Is Slightly Abnormal, There Wouldn't Be Any Point In Giving Each Person A Separate Name.

It's Perfectly Obvious That Somebody's Responsible And Somebody's Innocent. Otherwise It [justice] Makes No Sense At All.

Memories Are Like Stones, Time And Distance Erode Them Like Acid.