Author: A fool who, not content with having bored those who have lived with him, insists on tormenting generations to come.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
An aging writer has the not insignificant satisfaction of a shelf of books behind him that, as they wait for their ideal readers to discover them, will outlast him for a while.
But there comes a moment in everybody's life when he must decide whether he'll live among the human beings or not - a fool among fools or a fool alone.
The surprising thing about young fools is how many survive to become old fools.
Youth is a silly, vapid state, Old age with fears and ills is rife; This simple boon I beg of Fate - A thousand years of Middle Life.
The burning of an author's books, imprisonment for opinion's sake, has always been the tribute that an ignorant age pays to the genius of its time.
Who knows whether in retirement I shall be tempted to the last infirmity of mundane minds, which is to write a book.
There is something really horrific for any human being who feels he is being consumed by other people. I'm talking about a writer's critics, who don't address what you've written, but want to probe into your existence and magnify the trivia of your life without any sense of humor, without any sense of context.
Whoever happens to give birth to mischievous children lives always with unending grief in his spirit and heart.
The wise person often shuns society for fear of being bored.
The fool inherits, but the wise must get.