A lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth.
That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation; since our fortune's course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all the time.
Routine feeds the illusion of safety.
While we flatter ourselves that things remain the same, they are changing under our very eyes from year to year, from day to day.
It was all too easy to make things up, it was like skating on thin ice, it was like doing dainty pirouettes on a brittle crust over water thousands of fathoms deep.
The very concept of solid ground is a myth. The galaxy itself is adrift.
We are each of us like our little blue planet, hung in black space, upheld by nothing but our mutual reassurances, our loving lies.
