“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.”
“And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings.”
“God of pity and love, return to this earth. Go not so far away, leaving us to evil. Darkness is loose upon the world, the Devil Walks in the land, and there is nothing worth. Death like a dog runs howling from his lair; His bite has made men mad, they follow after All howling too, and their demoniac laughter Drowns like a sea our solitary prayer. Return, 0 Lord, return. Come with the day, Come with the light, that men may see once more Across this earth's uncomfortable floor The kindly paths, the old and loving way. Let us not die of evil in the night. Let there be God again. Let there be light.”
“The terrible, cold, cruel part is Wall Street. Rivers of gold flow there from all over the earth, and death comes with it. There, as nowhere else, you feel a total absence of the spirit: herds of men who cannot count past three, herds more who cannot get past six, scorn for pure science and demoniacal respect for the present. And the terrible thing is that the crowd that fills the street believes that the world will always be the same and that it is their duty to keep that huge machine running, day and night, forever. This is what comes of a Protestant morality, that I, as a (thank God) typical Spaniard, found unnerving.”