For what use are books to anyone whose days are like a rook's nest with every twig a duty.
To live at all is miracle enough.
Why break the heart that never beat from love?
Oh how I hate people!
Each day I live in a glass room unless I break it with the thrusting of my senses and pass through the splintered walls to the great landscape.
And there shall be a flame-green daybreak soon. And love itself will cry for insurrection! For tomorrow is also a day - and Titus has entered his stronghold.