For if Jack Buggit could escape from the pickle jar, if a bird with a broken neck could fly away, what else… — Annie Proulx Copy Share Image
I don't want to flee, nor do I want to abandon the battle of these farmers who live without any protection in… — Dorothy Stang Copy Share Image
I love looking at you, hundred-year-old tree, loaded with shoots and boughs as though you were a stripling. Teach me the secret… — Hélder Câmara Copy Share Image
I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightfoward pathway had been lost. Ah me! How hard a thing is to… — Dante Alighieri Copy Share Image
