Lapham’s Quarterly

When the root lives on, the new leaves come back.

As man disappears from sight, the land remains.

I am not Athenian or Greek but a citizen of the world.

Nature contains no one constant form.

Do not fear the clatter of wheels, the bumps and slops in corridors. It is only turbulence.

Whole nations have melted away like balls of snow before the sun.

Let us leave this Europe which never stops talking of Man yet massacres him at every one of its street corners, at every corner of the world.

The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.

Where shall I, of wandering weary, find my resting place at last?

One should always have one’s boots on and be ready to leave.