Every man has his own circle composed of trees, animals, men, ideas, and he is in duty bound to save this circle. He, and no one else. If he does not… - Nikos Kazantzakis

"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 وقال: "إني اتصرف يا بني وأكني لن أموتَ أبداً" فأجبته: "وأنا أتصرف وكأني سأموت كل لحظة". من كان المحق منا أيها الرئيس؟"

الفكرة هي كل شيء ، أَعندكَ إِيمان ؟ إِذن فإن قطعة من باب قديم تصبح رفاتا مقدسا . ليس لديك إيمان ؟ إن الصليب المقدس كله يصبح بابا قديما

The worm stood straight on God's blood-splattered threshold then
and beat his drum, beat it again, and raised his throat:
'You've matched all well on earth, wine, women, bread, and song,
but why, you Murderer, must you slay our children? Why?'
God foamed with rage and raised his sword to pierce that throat,
but his old copper sword, my lads, stuck at the bone.
Then from his belt the worm drew his black-hilted sword,
rushed up and slew that old decrepit god in heaven!
And now, my gallant lads — I don't know when or how —
that worm's god-slaying sword has fallen into my hands;
I swear that from its topmost iron tip the blood still drips!