Cries Of Despair, Misery, Sobbing

You're Beautiful, But You're Empty...one Couldn't Die For You. Of Course, An Ordinary Passerby Would Think My Rose Looked Just Like You. But My Rose, All On Her Own, Is More Important Than All Of You Together, Since She's The One I've Watered. Since She's The One I Put Under Glass, Since She's The One I Sheltered Behind The Screen. Since She's The One For Whom I Killed The Caterpillars (except The Two Or Three Butterflies). Since She's The One I Listened To When She Complained, Or When She Boasted, Or Even Sometimes When She Said Nothing At All. Since She's My Rose.

More Wisdom Is Latent In Things As They Are Than In All The Words Men Use.

The House, The Stars, The Desert -- What Gives Them Their Beauty Is Something That Is Invisible!

Are Wars... Anything But The Means Whereby A Nation's Problems Are Set, Where Creation Is Stimulated - There You Have Adventure. But There Is No Adventure In Heads-or-tails, In Betting That The Toss Will Come Out Of Life Or Death. War Is Not An Adventure. It Is A Disease. It Is Like Typhus.

Although Human Life Is Priceless, We Always Act As If Something Had An Even Greater Price Than Life... But What Is That Something?