I anticipate an old age full of regrets for what I did not do, with only a few for what I did not say.
Identity, that spectator of what he calls himself,
That net and aggregate of energies in transient combination.
Conventional morality is mostly dysgenic.
The world will end; and, tragically, no one will survive to say I told you so.
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.
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.