A citizen of London, being in the country, and hearing a horse neigh, exclaimed, Lord! how that horse laughs! A by-stander telling him that noise was called neighing, the next morning, when the cock crowed, the citizen to shew he had not forgot what was told him, cried out, Do you hear how the cock neighs? [fiat “Cockney”]

Nobody these days holds the written word in such high esteem as police states do,“ Arkadian Porphyrich says. "What statistic allows one to identify the nations where literature enjoys true consideration better than the sums appropriated for controlling it and suppressing it? Where it is the object of such attentions, literature gains an extraordinary authority, inconceivable in countries where it is allowed to vegetate as an innocuous pastime, without risks.

All the elements that make what I write recognizable as mine seem to me a cage that restricts my possibilities. If I were only a hand, a severed hand that grasps a pen and writes… Who would move this hand? The anonymous throng? The spirit of the times? The collective unconscious? I do not know. It is not in order to be the spokesman for something definable that I would like to erase myself. Only to transmit the writable that waits to be written, the tellable that nobody tells.

When he arrived at a clearing, he saw a dragon holding a lion by the tail and burning its flanks with its flaming breath. My lord Yvain did not waste time observing this marvel. He asked himself which of the two he would help. Then he determined that he would take the lion’s part, since a venomous and wicked creature deserves only harm: the dragon was venomous, and fire leapt from its mouth because it was so full of wickedness.

He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it.

Who can tell how scenes of peace and quietude sink into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places, and carry their own freshness, deep into their jaded hearts! Men who have lived in crowded, pent-up streets, through lives of toil, and who have never wished for change; men, to whom custom has indeed been second nature, and who have come almost to love each brick and stone that formed the narrow boundaries of their daily walks; even they, with the hand of death upon them, have been known to yearn at last for one short glimpse of Nature’s face; and, carried far from the scenes of their old pains and pleasures, have seemed to pass at once into a new state of being. Crawling forth, from day to day, to some green sunny spot, they have had such memories wakened up within them by the sight of the sky, and hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heaven itself has soothed their quick decline, and they have sunk into their tombs, as peacefully as the sun whose setting they watched from their lonely chamber window but a few hours before, faded from their dim and feeble sight!

I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys.”

“And which is Oliver?”

“Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!

Never did men wear greater breeches or carry less in them of any mettle whatsoever.

One sometimes gets the impression that deconstruction is a kind of game that anyone can play. One could, for example, invent a deconstruction of deconstructionism as follows: In the hierarchical opposition, deconstruction/logocentrism (phono-phallo-logocentrism), the privileged term “deconstruction” is in fact subordinate to the devalued term “logocentrism,” for, in order to establish the hierarchical superiority of deconstruction, the deconstructionist is forced to attempt to represent its superiority, its axiological primacy, by argument and persuasion, by appealing to the logocentric values he tries to devalue. But his efforts to do this are doomed to failure because of the internal inconsistency in the concept of deconstructionism itself, because of its very self-referential dependence on the authority of a prior logic. By an aporetical Aufhebung, deconstruction deconstructs itself.

I would like to believe that hashish persuades nature to permit us — for less egoistic purposes — that squandering of our existence that we know in love. For if, when we love, our existence runs through nature’s fingers like golden coins that she cannot hold and lets fall so that they can thus purchase new birth, she now throws us, without hoping or expecting anything, in ample handfuls, toward existence.

He had the appearance of a caryatid on vacation; he was supporting nothing but his reverie.

What is this, Alcibiades? Are we to have neither conversation nor singing over our cups; but simply to drink as if we were thirsty?

Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:
Charybdis roaring on the left presides,
And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;
Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,
The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.
But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,
The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,
Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,
And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:
Her parts obscene below the waves descend,
With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.
‘Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,
And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,
Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,
And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.

But where the company are real gentlemen and men of education, you will see no flute-girls, nor dancing-girls, nor harp-girls; and they have no nonsense or games, but are contented with one another’s conversation, of which their own voices are the medium, and which they carry on by turns and in an orderly manner, even though they are very liberal in their potations.

Let every man observe, and be a law unto himself.

Nothing pesters the body and mind sooner than to be still fed, to eat and ingurgitate beyond all measure, as many do. “By overmuch eating and continual feasts they stifle nature, and choke up themselves; which, had they lived coarsely, or like galley-slaves tied to an oar, might have happily prolonged many fair years.” [saith Lessius’ Hygiasticon]

Temperance is like a bridle of gold, and he that can use it aright, ego non summis viris comparo, sed simillimum Deo judico [Tully], is liker a god than a man: for as it will transform a beast to a man again, so will it make a man a god.

An ass and a mule went laden over a brook, the one with salt, the other with wool; the mule’s pack was wetted by chance, the salt melted, his burden the lighter, and he thereby much eased; he told the ass, who, thinking to speed as well, wet his pack likewise at the next water, but it was much the heavier, and consequently he quite tired. So one thing may be good and bad to several parties, upon diverse occasions (Prudenti diffidentia / Nil est melius, nil utilius mortalibus).

The pattern of life, therefore, appears to have made the world weak and to have handed it over as a prey to the wicked, who run it successfully and securely since they are well aware that the generality of men, with paradise for their goal, consider how best to bear, rather than how best to avenge, their injuries.

June 8th [1660]. Out early, took horses at Deale. I troubled much with the King’s gittar, and Fairbrother, the rogue that I intrusted with the carrying of it on foot, whom I thought I had lost. Come to Gravesend. A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen a great while.

Sir Anthony Absolute: Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an ever-green tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms throughout the year! —and depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.

My friends, Providence is put to his trumps. A revolution, what does that prove? That God is hard up. He makes a coup d’état because there is a solution of continuity between the present and the future, and because he, God, is unable to join the two ends.

And to see so much discomfort above and below, so much rascality and odiousness and stinginess and distress in the heavens and on earth… to see winter, which is nothing but a rent in the zenith through which the wind blows, to see so many tatters even in the brand new purple of the morning on the tops of the hills, to see the dew drops, those false pearls, to see the frost, that paste, to see humanity torn, and events patched, and so many spots on the sun, and so many holes in the moon, to see such misery everywhere — I suspect that God is not rich.

He keeps up appearances, it is true, but I feel the pinch. We must not judge the gods from appearances. Beneath the gilding of the sky I catch a glimpse of a poor universe, Creation is bankrupt. That is why I am malcontent.

Society is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter negatively by restraining our vices.

Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its best state is but a necessary evil — in its worst state an intolerable one — for when we suffer or are exposed to the same miseries by a government, which we might expect in a country without government, our calamities are heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer.

You tell me of degrees of perfection to which human nature is capable of arriving, and I believe it, but at the same time lament that our admiration should arise from the scarcity of the instances.

I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Maskwell: Cynthia, let thy Beauty gild my Crimes; and whatsoever I commit of Treachery or Deceit, shall be imputed to me as a Merit — Treachery, what Treachery? Love cancels all the Bonds of Friendship, and sets Men right upon their first Foundations.