“This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death?”

It is folly to waste labour about trifles.

You give me nothing during your life, but you promise to provide for me at your death. If you are not a fool, you know what I wish for!

What’s a wretched man? A man whom no man pleases.

You are so pure in mind and heart, In aspect, too, so mild, I wonder that you ever could Implant your wife with child.

Whoever is not too wise is wise.

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.

Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.

If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.

I wont let a wife lead me to the altar.

I believe that man to be wretched whom none can please.

Why do strong arms fatigue themselves with frivolous dumbbells? To dig a vineyard is worthier exercise for men.

Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.

One genius has made many clever artists.

The African lions rush to attack bulls; they do not attack butterflies.

I know all that better than my own name.

What quick wit is found in sudden straits!

When any calamity is suffered, the first thing to be remembered is, how much has been escaped.

The moral imperative to make big changes is inescapable…that what we take for granted may not be here for our children

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.

So it always is: when you escape to a desert the silence shouts in your ear.

Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

There is no escape from yesterday because yesterday has deformed us, or been deformed by us. The mood is of no importance. Deformation has taken place.