A small boy puts his hand on the wall, and looks down intently as he wriggles his toes. The birth of thought?
With every physical pain, my moral fibre unravels a little.
The doctrine of the immortality of the soul has more threat than comfort.
The passions are the same in every conflict, large or small.
Reclusive? The inner city will secure your privacy better than any desert cave.
History goes out of control almost as often as nature does.