They say, “We only have the life of this world. We die and we live, and nothing destroys us but time.” Yet, not true knowledge have they of this—only belief.

I look for the end of the future, but it never ceases to arrive. 

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

Time rushes toward us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.

The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.