A half-read book is a half-finished love affair.
By each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.
One cannot pass by without thinking of the density of men in the ground.
Yay, Old'uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.
Whoever dies with the most stuff wins.
It's a small world. It keeps recrossing itself.