In a panaromic world of self praise I quietly sat there thinking how to better than yesterday.

Old age isn't a battle: old age is a massacre.

[Cannery Row's] inhabitants are, as the man once said, 'whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches,' by which he meant everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, 'saints and angels and martyrs and holy men,' and he would have meant the same thing.

Words are coin. Words alienate. Language is no medium for desire. Desire is rapture, not exchange.

Written By J.M. Coetzee

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