Gore your own ox.
Identity, that spectator of what he calls himself,
That net and aggregate of energies in transient combination.
Flaunt your defects and the world will take them for graces.
Tout pardonner, c’est à n’y rien comprendre.
All agree that memory is fugitive, but few draw the necessary conclusion about identity.
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” would be a more telling argument if everything were not, in fact, broke.
Our descendants will regard us for hanging men as we regard our ancestors for hanging dogs.
All appears as it would if it were what it is.