The man had arrived at that stage of drunkenness where affection is felt for the universe.

Tradition, thou art for suckling children, Thou art the enlivening milk for babes, But no meat for men is in thee.

And it was as if fate had betrayed the soldier. In death it exposed to his enemies that poverty which in life he had perhaps concealed from his friends.

The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer.

Doubtless there are other roads.

In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, ‘Is it good, friend?’ ‘It is bitter — bitter,’ he answered, ‘But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart.

A serious prophet upon predicting a flood should be the first man to climb a tree. This would demonstrate that he was indeed a seer.