Her green eyes fluttered swiftly twice or thrice, then glazed, her mouth gaped open, bleating, then her jaws hung loose and retched up all her soul i… - Nikos Kazantzakis

When shall I at last retire into solitude alone, without companions, without joy and without sorrow, with only the sacred certainty that all is a dream? When, in my rags — without desires — shall I retire contented into the mountains? When, seeing that my body is merely sickness and crime, age and death, shall I — free, fearless, and blissful — retire to the forest? When? When, oh when?

I was once more struck by the truth of the ancient saying: Man's heart is a ditch full of blood. The loved ones who have died throw themselves down on the bank of this ditch to drink the blood and so come to life again; the dearer they are to you, the more of your blood they drink.

A slave's soul has no worth, my brothers; it lacks strength
to tread on this great earth with gallantry and freedom.
I pity the poor slaves, they're nought but airy mist,
a light breeze scatters them, a fragrance knocks them down;
it's only just they crawl on the earth on hands and knees.
Today I'll write a hymn to God and pray for this great grace.