It seems to me that truth has taken its place again in our little room, and become incarnate; that the greatest bond which can bind two beings togeth… - Henri Barbusse

You can no more look destiny in the face than you can look at the sun, and yet destiny is grey

At the touch of mankind, things wear away with heartbreaking slowness.

Instinctively we both looked for the inscriptions we cut, once upon a time, on trees and on stones, in foolish delight. We sought them like scattered treasure, on the strange cheeks of the old willows, near the tendrils of the fall, on the birches that stand like candles in front of the violet thicket, and on the old fir which so often sheltered us with its dark wings. Many inscriptions have disappeared. Some are worn away because things do; some are covered by a host of other inscriptions or they are distorted and ugly. Nearly all have passed on as if they had been passers-by.