Book: The citadel

Words for truth are bad clothes, any of the words can be refuted. My tongue is awkward, and I often contradict myself. But this does not mean that I was wrong.

the top - because you are a man. But they don't know why.

The words life and death tease each other, but you can only live what you agree to die for. The one who renounces death also renounces life.

They thought they had become richer when everyone dragged a piece of the temple to them; they lost the sanctuary, acquired a pile of rubble.

Be cleansed of blood: slavery gives birth only to a revolt of slaves.

The soul of the crowd is the stomach. Any gilding flies off it.

Dreams do not bring happiness, they are too flexible. Like a hopeless swarm of dreams that fills the voids of youth.

There is no victory that would last forever.

To agree to give up his life of benefits? It is cheaper to live.

What woman of beauty, if men are not inspired by it? Precious than a diamond, if nobody wants them to have? Where is the Kingdom if nobody is?

Diamond, if nobody wants it, it becomes a cheap piece of glass.

My father used to say:
- Man is the one who creates. Co-creation transforms people into brothers. Living will not bring rest to the stock.
My father replied:
- You're talking about creativity, what do you mean? Few are able to create something remarkable. You, therefore, appeal to the few. And the rest? What to do to them?
The father replied
- To create is to stumble in the dance. Failed to hit a chisel on stone. It is not in motion. Effort seem fruitless? A blind man, step back a few steps. Look from afar at the bustling city. What do you see, in addition to diligence, and the Golden halo of dust over busy work? How can you distinguish who is wrong? People are busy, and little by little there are palaces, cisterns and the hanging gardens. The magic of skillful hands created masterpieces, isn't it? But trust me, successes and failures still made them, because, think about it, is it possible to dismember a person? And if save only the great sculptors, you can go without the sculptors at all. Who will get the madness to choose a craft that promises so little chance of survival? The great sculptors are raised on the soil bad. They are for them instead of the stairs. Step by step is committed to the stairs up. A beautiful dance is born from the desire to dance. When you want, dance all, even those who dance badly. And that is if I lost the desire? Dead training, meaningless spectacle. Historian visible mistakes, he considers the past. But who would blame the cedar because he is the seed, the sprout or growing wrong? His business to grow. Mistake after mistake, and stand, pine forest, fragrant on a windy day birds.

I watched the dancers dancing. The invented dance, danced;. Who can use them, to carry and turn into in store for the future? He passed like wildfire. But I would call noble people, dancing their dances, though not for them, no bins, or granaries. And those who puts on the shelves of the beautiful creations at the hands of others, despite the ability to admire, I will call barbarians.

The tribes that settle for other people's stories, eating someone else's bread and hire for money for architects wanting to build a city worthy of contempt. I call them stagnant swamp.