“What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?”

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved.

We do not work for men. We work for the land and the people. We do not even work for money.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

When the storm threatens, a man is afraid for his house.

The ground is holy, being even as it came from the Creator.

There is a man sleeping in the grass. And over him is gathering the greatest storm of all his days.

It is not permissible to add to one’s possesions if these things can only be done at the cost of other men.

Money is for food and clothes and comfort, and a visit to the pictures. Money is to make happy the lives of children.

The Judge does not make the law. It is people that make the law.

For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Money is for food and clothes and comfort, and a visit to the pictures.

But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Therefore if a law is unjust, and if the Judge judges according to the law, that is justice, even if it is not just.

Happy the eyes that can close

It is not “forgive and forget” as if nothing wrong had ever happened, but “forgive and go forward,

Sorrow is better than fear. Fear is a journey, a terrible journey. But, sorrow is at least an arriving.