The more I see of what you call civilization, the more highly I think of what you call savagery!

Every twinge of sensation, even of agony, was a negation of death.

How can I wear the harness of toil And sweat at the daily round, While in my soul forever The drums of Pictdom sound?

I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.

What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie? I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky. The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing; Rush in and die, dogs—I was a man before I was a king.

When a nation forgets her skill in war, when her religion becomes a mockery, when the whole nation becomes a nation of money-grabbers, then the wild tribes, the barbarians drive in... Who will our invaders be? From whence will they come?

The sea-road is good for wanderers and landless men. There is quenching of thirst on the grey paths of the winds, and the flying clouds to still the sting of lost dreams.