A corner draft fluttered the flame And the white fever of temptation Upswept its angel wings that cast A cruciform shadow.

I am caught like a beast at bay. Somewhere are people, freedom, light, But all I hear is the baying of the pack, There is no way out for me.

What is history? Its beginning is that of the centuries of systematic work devoted to the solution of the enigma of death, so that death itself may eventually be overcome. That is why people write symphonies, and why they discover mathematical infinity and electromagnetic waves.

But what are pity, conscience, or fear To the brazen pair, compared With the living sorcery Of their hot embraces?

In every generation there has to be some fool who will speak the truth as he sees it.

Art is unthinkable without risk and spiritual self-sacrifice.

It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned.