“Hoi, hoi u embleer hrair! M'saion ule' hraka vair!”
“Would that the dead were not dead! But there is grass that must be eaten, pellets that must be chewed, hraka that must be passed, holes that must be dug, sleep that must be slept.”
“This was their way of honoring the dead. The story over, the demands of their own hard, rough lives began to re-assert themselves in their hearts, in their nerves, their blood and appetites. Would that the dead were not dead! But there is grass that must be eaten, pellets that must be chewed, hraka that must be passed, holes that must be dug, sleep that must be slept. Odysseus brings not one man to shore with him. Yet he sleeps sound beside Calypso and when he wakes thinks only of Penelope.”
“Quintilio guardava lontano, oltre il confine del terreno demaniale. Quattro miglia più a sud, all'orizzonte, si stagliava il profilo ondulato delle grandi colline. Sul punto più elevato, i faggi di Cottington's Clump si agitavano al vento che, lassù, tirava più robusto che in pianura fra le eriche.«Guarda!» disse d'un tratto Quintilio. «Eccolo là, Moscardo, il posto che fa per noi. Colline alte e solitarie, dove il vento porta con sé rumori lontani e la terra è asciutta come la paglia in un granaio. Là noi dovremo abitare. Là, bisogna che andiamo.”
“No, no- the sky will grow dark, cold rain will fall and all trace of the right way will be blotted out. You will be all alone. And still you will have to go on. There will be ghosts in the dark and voices in the air, disgusting prophecies coming true I wouldn’t wonder and absent faces present on every side, as the man said. And still you will have to go on. The last bridge will fall behind you and the last lights will go out, followed by the sun, the moon and the stars; and still you will have to go on. You will come to regions more desolate and wretched than you ever dreamed could exist, places of sorrow created entirely by that mean superstition which you yourself have put about for so long. But still you will have to go on”
“I don't know where ideas come from. They come from outer space or God, if you like, or from my subconscious mind. But I never go ou self-consciously looking for a story.”