You're not cross with me, though?" he said. She pulled her hand away and answered, "No, no, I'm never cross with anyone.
I'm thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.
There sat I, a faded being, under faded leaves.
The spirit becomes free only when it ceases to be a support.
There is a goal but no way; what we call the way is mere wavering.
You too have weapons.