Where books are burnt, men finish up being burnt too.
Like a great poet, Nature knows how to produce the greatest effects with the most limited means.
Matrimony; the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented.
Wherever books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too.
A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone.
Write . . . write . . . pencil . . . paper.