Mandela's Sermon Blessed are the dehumanized for they have nothing to lose but their patience False gods killed the poet in me. Now I dig graves with artistic precision Keorapetse Kgositsile (2002)
Photo by James Coleman on Unsplash All this happened at the same time: a boy ran up to a pigeon and, smiling, looked at Levin; the pigeon flapped its wings and fluttered off, sparkling in the sun amidst the air trembling with snowdust, while the smell of baked bread wafted from the window as the rolls appeared in it. All this together was so extraordinarily good that Levin laughed and wept from joy. Leo Tolstoy (from Anna Karenina 1877)