All those who actually live the mysteries of life haven't the time to write, and all those who have the time don't live them! D'you see? - Nikos Kazantzakis

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 in lumps of clotting blood.

إنها للذيذة وحزينة جداً , تلك الساعات من المطر الناعم , تعيد إلى الذهن جميع الذكريات المرة , المدفونة في القلب : فراق الأصدقاء , ابتسامات نساء قد انطفأت ,آمال قد فقدت أجنحتها كفراشات

Life is a crusade in the service of God. Whether we wished to or not, we set out as crusaders to free — not the Holy Sepulchre — but that God buried in matter and in our souls. Every body, every soul is a Holy Sepulcher. Every seed of grain is a Holy Sepulchre; let us free it! The brain is a Holy Sepulchre, God sprawls within it and battles with death; let us run to his assistance!