“Gods die with men who have conceived them. But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.”

“Rain. Rushing, inky water. And a smell. Sicksweat. Like old roses on a breeze.”

“It is less true to say that he rejected the republic than to say that the republic rejected him. His enormous genius shattered itself upon the impossible task of making the republic fit to rule the empire, and he turned to despotism in contempt and perhaps in bitterness.”

“Spring has come again. The earth is like a child who knows poems by heart;”

“I never find myself alone within the embracement of rocks & hills, a traveller up an alpine road, but my spirit courses, drives, and eddies, like a Leaf in Autumn: a wild activity, of thoughts, imaginations, feelings, and impulses of motion, rises up from within me.”

“The anger was vast and it came out of nowhere. It was the rage of something not fitting; the frustration of trying to put something in a box that is slightly too small. You try moving the shape around in the hope that some angle will make it fit in the box. Slowly comes an apprehension that this might not, after all, be possible. And finally you know it won’t fit, know there is no way it can fit, but this doesn’t stop you using brute force to try to crush it in, punishing the bloody thing for not fitting properly. That was what it was like: but I was the box, I was the thing that didn’t fit, and I was the person smashing it, over and over again, with bruised and bleeding hands.”

I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make-believe and your show.