There's room for everyone at the rendezvous of victory.
Africa, help me to go home, carry me like an aged child in your arms. Undress me and wash me. Strip me of all of these garments, strip me as a man strips off dreams when the dawn comes. . . .
Poetic knowledge is born in the great silence of scientific knowledge.
Reason, I sacrifice you to the evening breeze.
A man screaming is not a dancing bear. Life is not a spectacle.
I am talking about societies drained of their essence, cultures trampled underfoot, institutions undermined, lands confiscated, religions smashed, magnificent artistic creations destroyed, extraordinary possibilities wiped out.