And then when all around grows dark, when we feel utterly alone, when all men right and left pass us by and know us not, a forgotten feeling rises in the breast. – Max Muller
Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings. – Gustave Flaubert (1821–1880), letter to Louise Colet, 1846 October 7th, tr
Ruin is the destination toward which all men rush, each pursuing his own best interest in a society that believes in the freedom of the commons. – Garrett Hardin
