No one wants more common sense: most think they have a full measure; a few that they have a finer, uncommon sense to make up for its lack.
Identity, that spectator of what he calls himself,
That net and aggregate of energies in transient combination.
Few enjoy violence neat, but stir in a little righteousness and it makes a popular cocktail.
That you might not be right — this idea can be entertained, briefly, at intervals. But that you might not be good — this is insupportable.
If you are an impostor, is it a syndrome to feel like one?
Reputations for iconoclasm vastly outnumber iconoclasts, which is to be expected, as they are vastly more useful.
Age would be a lot more use to Youth than the other way around.
Understanding looks, to others, like forgiveness; and forgiveness, to oneself, like understanding.
It is our former selves that we especially loathe.
Almost everyone means well, and this is terrifying.
I’m not sure what normality is, but insisting that one is not at all normal must have something to do with it.