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— Jack London"I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. "Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!""
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I can see that the sadness has returned. And it's not a beautiful sadness- beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain.
— David Levithan
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I'm happiest when most away I can bear my soul from its home of clay On a windy night when the moon is bright And the eye can wander through worlds of light— When I am not and none beside— Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky— But only spirit wandering wide Through infinite immensity.
— Emily Bronte
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