As for me, I would rather be a worm in a wild apple than a son of man. But we are what we are, and we might remember not to hate any person, for all are vicious; And not to be astonished at any evil, all are deserved; And not to fear death; it is the only way to be cleansed.

Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.

The love of freedom has been the quality of Western man.

He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.

There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew that cultures decay, and life's end is death.

They import and they consume reality.

Seagulls . . . slim yachts of the element.