Michael

“But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.”
― Wilfred Owen, The War Poems

“We are all insects. Groping towards something terrible or divine.”
― Philip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle

“These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.”
― Wilfred Owen, The Poems of Wilfred Owen

“It is the wicked deception of love that it begins by making us dwell not upon a woman in the outside world but upon a doll inside our head, the only woman who is always available in fact, the only one we shall ever possess, whom the arbitrary nature of memory, almost as absolute as that of the imagination, may have made as different from the real woman as the real Balbec had been from the Balbec I imagined- a dummy creation that little by little, to our own detriment, we shall force the real woman to resemble.”
― Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way