There Should Be A Science Of Discontent.

The Flesh Surrenders Itself. Eternity Takes Back Its Own. Our Bodies Stirred These Waters Briefly, Danced With A Certain Intoxication Before The Love Of Life And Self, Dealt With A Few Strange Ideas, Then Submitted To The Instruments Of Time. What Can We Say Of This? I Occurred. I Am Not...yet, I Occurred.

It Is A Wise Man That Does Know The Contented Man Is Never Poor, Whilst The Discontented Man Is Never Rich.

We Bene Gesserit Sift People To Find The Humans.

The Summer Night Comes Brooding Down On Earth, As Love Comes Brooding Down On Human Hearts, With Bliss That Hath No Utterance Save Rich Tears. She Floats In Fragrance Down The Smiling Dark, Foldeth A Kiss Upon The Lips Of Life-- Curtaineth Into Rest The Weary World-- And Shuts Us In With All Our Hid Delights.

Life Cannot Find Reasons To Sustain It, Cannot Be A Source Of Decent Natural Regard, Unless Each Of Us Resolves To Breathe Such Qualities Into It.