All books are either dreams or swords.
For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men lived and worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Moon! Moon! am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.
Even Pain pricks to livelier living.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed of millions, robber of the best which earth can give.