Sexes. One has the look of a wound, the other of something skinned.
Justice is the right of the weakest.
Our ideals, like pictures, are made from lights and shadows.
The breath of the mind is attention.
We are all of us more or less echoes, repeating involuntarily the virtues, the defects, the movements, and the characters of those among whom we live.
Our life is woven wind.