There is one thing that ought to be taught in all the colleges, Which is that people ought to be taught not to go around always making apologies. I don't mean the kind of apologies people make when they run over you or borrow five dollars or step on your feet, Because I think that is sort of sweet; No, I object to one kind of apology alone,Which is when people spend their time and yours apologizing for everything they own. You go to their house for a meal,And they apologise because the anchovies aren't caviar or the partridge is veal; They apologise privately for the crudeness of the other guests,And they apologise publicly for their wife's housekeeping or their husband's jests; If they give you a book by Dickens they apologise because it isn't by Scott,And if they take you to the theatre, they apologise for the acting and the dialogue and the plot; They contain more milk of human kindness than the most capacious dairy can, But if you are from out of town they apologize for everything local and if you are a foreigner they apologise for everything American. I dread these apologisers even as I am depicting them,I shudder as I think of the hours that must be spent in contradicting them, Because you are very rude if you let them emerge from an argument victorious,And when they say something of theirs is awful, it is your duty to convince them politely that it is magnificent and glorious, And what particularly bores me with them, Is that half the time you have to politely contradict them when you rudely agree with them,So I think there is one rule every host and hostess ought to keep with the comb and nail file and bicarbonate and aromatic spirits on a handy shelf, Which is don't spoil the denouement by telling the guests everything is terrible, but let them have the thrill of finding it out for themselves.

(Ogden Nash)

(...)

a ele iria continuar unida pela sublime memória do corpo, pela recordação das fulgurantes horas que havia passado com ele, isto uma mulher nunca o esquece, não como os homens, a quem tudo lhes escorre pela pele."

José Saramago, Caim

(...)

no céu também se sorria muito, mas sempre seraficamente com uma ligeira expressão de contrariedade, como quem pede desculpa por estar contente, se àquilo se podia chamar contentamento".

José Saramago, Caim

(...) almocreves somos e pela estrada andamos. Todos, tanto os sábios como os ignorantes".

José Saramago, Caim

(...)

Aqui, a noite surge de repente, sem chamamentos, sem oração, sem aves. O céu vazio muda de cor, torna-se avermelhado e depois a noite ergue-se do fundo das ravinas. Quando cheguei, na Primavera, as noites eram quentes. As colinas pedregosas irradiavam o calor do sol até ao coração da noite. Agora que é Outono, as noites são frias. Logo que o Sol desaparece por trás das colinas sente-se o frio que vem da terra.

J.M.G.Le Clézio, Estrela Cadente