"كنتُ مارَّاً ذات يومٍ من قرية صغيرة. كان ثمة جدٌّ هرم في التسعين يغرس شجرة لوز فقلت له: "إيه أيها الأب الصغير، أتزرع شجرة لوز؟" فالتفت إلي وهو محني كما كان… - Nikos Kazantzakis

إن في النساء جرحا لا يلتئم بالمرة.

I will not accept boundaries; appearances cannot contain me; I choke! To bleed in this agony, and to live it profoundly, is the second duty. The mind is patient and adjusts itself, it likes to play; but the heart grows savage and will not condescend to play; it stifles and rushes to tear apart the nets of necessity.

The wife of my God is matter; they wrestle with each other, they laugh and weep, they cry out in the nuptial bed of flesh. They spawn and are dismembered. They fill sea, land, and air with species of plants, animals, men, and spirits. This primordial pair embraces, is dismembered, and multiplies in every living creature. All the concentrated agony of the Universe bursts out in every living thing. God is imperiled in the sweet ecstasy and bitterness of flesh. But he shakes himself free, he leaps out of brains and loins, then clings to new brains and new loins until the struggle for liberation again breaks out from the beginning.