EPIGRAPH
Her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body.
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue,
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes,
And wide unclasp the table of their thoughts
To every ticklish reader, set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity
And daughters of the game.
—William Shakespeare,
Troilus and Cressida
My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father, and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts;
And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humors like the people of this world…
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented…
—William Shakespeare,
Richard II
So long as you do not die and rise again,
You are a stranger to the dark earth.
—Goethe
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