The Aphorism (n.) is a form of eternity. If done right, it says more than what everyone else says in an entire book.
The Aphorism (n.) is a genre written in blood by authors who want not to be learned but to be learned by heart.
The Aphorism (n.) is the greatest paradox in literature, the imperishable in the midst of change, the nourishment which always remains highly valued, as salt does, and never becomes stupid like salt.
The Aphorism (n.) is too hard for the tooth of time, and is not worn away by all the centuries, although it serves as food for every epoch.
An Aphorism (n.) is far from deciphered as soon as it has been read, when properly coined and cast into its final mould; only then does it first require to be expounded.
An Aphorism (n.) wants not to be read but learned by heart; proverbs should be peaks, and the shortest way between peaks needs long legs.
An Aphorism (n.) is the form of eternity: to say in ten sentences what other people say in a book — what other people do not say in a book.
An Aphorism (n.) marks the deepest books — the profoundest and least exhausted books will probably always have something of the aphoristic and unexpected character of Pascal's Pensées.