The human material is crumbled into the earth for another end.
I hated that man, when he had his shape and his warmth.

We were foreigners, and made to destroy ourselves.

Yet it seems to me, in face of that bluish heart, still attached to its red cords, that I understand the value of life.

It is understood by force, like a caress.

I think I can see how many seasons and memories and beings there had to be, yonder, to make up that life,--while I remain before him, on a point of the plain, like a night watcher.