The soldier's body becomes a stock of accessories that are not his property.

To forget a friend is sad. Not everyone has had a friend.

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

I shall never again admire a merely brave man.

No truth is proved, no truth achieved, by argument, and the ready-made truths men offer you are mere conveniences or drugs to make you sleep.

How is it possible for one to own the stars?" "To whom do they belong?" the businessman retorted, peevishly. "I don't know. To nobody.

We live not by things, but by the meaning of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords from generation to generation.