Time is the nervous system of narration, whether factual or fictive. If it gets confused some of the minutiae of human nature are certain not to work, not to glow, not to strike home.
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
I am walking like a bewitched corpse, with the certainty of being eaten by the infinite, of being annulled by the only existing Absurd.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of our sad humanity must assume the aspect of Hell.
Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from the last church falls on the last priest.
This is a good way to do it (saying goodbye to Victoria Park). What a perfect way to end the Millennium. The last football home and away match of the Millennium will be at Victoria Park, and in the new Millennium we'll have fantastic facilities, a new approach, a new attitude.
Look at what your idea of success would be. The more that you take in external motivators, the more it reduces your ultimate satisfaction because it doesn't come from inside.
It is personalities not principles that move the age.