If the hunters think we do all things by chants and spells, they may believe so — it does not hurt them. I was taught how to read in the old books an… - Stephen Vincent Benét

I stumbled, slipped... and all was gone That I had gained. Once more I lay Before the long bright Hell of ice. And still the light was far away. There was red mist before my eyes Or I could tell you how I went Across the swaying firmament, A glittering torture of cold stars, And how I fought in Titan wars... And died... and lived again upon The rack... and how the horses strain When their red task is nearly done. . . <p> I only know that there was Pain, Infinite and eternal Pain. And that I fell — and rose again.

The ant finds kingdoms in a foot of ground.

For those slain at once. For those living through the months and years Enduring, watching, hoping, going each day To the work or the queue for meat or the secret club, Living meanwhile, begetting children, smuggling guns, And found and killed at the end like rats in a drain.