Tragedy Should Remain The Right Of Human

The Lime Trees Were In Bloom. But In The Early Morning Only A Faint Fragrance Drifted Through The Garden, An Airy Message, An Aromatic Echo Of The Dreams During The Short Summer Night.

I Had Seen A Herd Of Elephant Travelling Through Dense Native Forest ... Pacing Along As If They Had An Appointment At The End Of The World.

To Be A Person Is To Have A Story To Tell.

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.

I Will Not Let Thee Go, Except Thou Bless Me.