I shudder at the very thought of being born again into this world. Life to me . . . has been a monstrous, painful, agonizing affair, and the idea of repeating such an existence - even if better in a way - is horrifying to me. . . . I gratefully look forward to oblivion, but I must be sure of it.
Contrary to general opinion, women are not so sentimental as men, but are much more hardheaded.
God's 'failures' are really man's failures.
No woman has ever been an authentic genius of the stature of men, but that does not enrage me
I am deeply convinced that happiness does not exist in this world
Man was the outlaw, the rebel, the distorted shape that scarred the earth, the voice that silenced the music of Eden, the hand that raised up obscenities and blasphemies. Man was the pariah-dog, the moral leper in this translucent mirror of Heaven. He was the muddier of crystal waters, the despoiler of forests, the murderer of the innocent, the challenger against God. He was the assassin of the saints and the prophets, for they spoke of what he WOULD NOT HEAR, in the darkness of his spirit!
People are scared to death of dying. I am the opposite.
It is human nature to instinctively rebel at obscurity or ordinariness.
Men who retain irony are not to be trusted. They can't always resist an impulse to tickle themselves.
Reading, not just an escape, but an exercise in living.
The arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and assistance to foreign hands should be curtailed, lest Rome fall.
I converse with my dog through ESP
I am the skeptic of skeptics.
My relatives used to laugh when I talked of being a writer.
I wanted to acquire an education, work extremely hard and never deviate from my goal, to make it.
I often reread books I have written
The human race is not very admirable. It was a big mistake of God's.
The world is a penal institution.
People must again learn to work, instead of living on public assistance.
If there is a God, then he was particularly harsh to me
Though I am a Catholic, a professing one, I have serious doubts about the survival of the human personality after death.
Saints rarely have friends; they are usually hated and derided, for they love and love is always rejected by hard-hearted men....saints do not advertise themselves; good men do not seek out a name in the world....the saints did what they did almost in stealth, asking nothing except that men love God.
I am a Westerner of Westerners!
The American insanity for Loving Everybody is ruining my good temper and delivering my stomach to enormous bouts with acidity.
But what was a body? Dust, dung, urine, itches. It was the light within which was important, and it was not significant if that light endured after death, or if the soul was blinded eternally in the endless night of the suspired flesh.
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