While We Are Young The

The Air Was Cold To The Lungs, The Long Grass Dripping Wet, And The Herbs On It Gave Out Their Spiced Astringent Scent. In A Little While On All Sides The Cicada Would Begin To Sing. The Grass Was Me , And The Air, The Distant Invisible Mountains Were Me, The Tired Oxen Were Me. I Breathed With The Slight Night-wind In The Thorn Trees.

Love, With Very Young People, Is A Heartless Business. We Drink At That Age From Thirst, Or To Get Drunk; It Is Only Later In Life That We Occupy Ourselves With The Individuality Of Our Wine.

There Are Things Which Cannot Be Carried Through Even With The Good Will Of Everybody Concerned

Africa, Amongst The Continents, Will Teach It To You: That God And The Devil Are One, The Majesty Coeternal, Not Two Uncreated But One Uncreated, And The Natives Neither Confounded The Persons Nor Divided The Substance.

Within Our Whole Universe The Story Only Has The Authority To Answer That Cry Of Heart Of Its Characters, That One Cry Of Heart Of Each Of Them: "who Am I?"