She looked up at him and her face was pale and austere in the uplight and her eyes lost in their darkly shadowed hollows save only for the glint of them and he could see her throat move in the light and he saw in her face and in her figure something he'd not seen before and the name of that thing was sorrow.

It is personal. That's what an education does. It makes the world personal.

War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is god.

We think we are the victims of time. In reality, the way of the world isn't fixed anywhere. How could that be possible? We are our own journey. And therefore we are time as well. We are the same. Fugitive. Inscrutable. Ruthless.

It takes very little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Or if they could I never heard of it.

How does a man decide in what order to abandon his life?

See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire.