No victor believes in chance.
In some remote corner of the universe, poured out and glittering among innumerable solar systems, there once was a star on which clever animals invented knowledge.
There are no facts, only interpretations.
“Evil men have no songs.” How is it, then, that the Russians have songs?
Compassion for the friend should conceal itself under a hard shell.
The rising and falling of the scales of pride and humility sustain the brooding mind as well as the alternations of desire and peace of the soul.