“From life, from the apple cut by the flaming knife, what grain will be saved? My son, believe me, nothing remains, Only adult toil, the furrow of fate in the palm. Only toil, Nothing more.”
Quote by Czeslaw Milosz
Author
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Source: Selected and Last Poems 1931-2004
“When the loo paper gets thicker and the writing paper thinner, it's always a bad sign, at home.”
