My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it.

And everything we do finally serves evil, because that's what we are. Greed and cruelty. I look at the world, at the forests and the mountains here, the sky, and it's all right, as it should be. But we aren't. People aren't. We're wrong. We do wrong. No animal does wrong. How could they? But we can, and we do. And we never stop.

They forget that human beings, while whining after the simple life, thrive on complexity.

We shape each other to be human.

If the yumens are men, they are unfit or untaught to dream or act as men. Therefore they go about in torment killing and destroying, driven by the gods within, whom they will not set free but try to uproot and deny. If they are men, they are evil menm having denied their owns gods, afraid to see their own faces in the dark...

If the yumens are men, they are unfit or untaught to dream or act as men. Therefore they go about in torment killing and destroying, driven by the gods within, whom they will not set free but try to uproot and deny. If they are men, they are evil men, having denied their owns gods, afraid to see their own faces in the dark...

Books, you know, they’re not just commodities. The profit motive often is in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art—the art of words.