History is a river that never ends. Today is history, and I am here at the fountainhead.
Should five slaves dictate to a king? If five baboons bark, must the black-maned lion tremble?
When a traveller gets a thorn in his foot,’ Mbejane went on softly, ‘and he is wise he plucks it out – and he is a fool who leaves it and says “I will keep this thorn to prick me so that I will always remember the road upon which I have travelled.” Nkosi, it is better to remember with pleasure than with pain.
If I have to die, then it’s best to do so before I see everything I love, the land, the animals, the people, all of it destroyed.
The man who drinks Zambezi waters must always return to drink again.
But those set to guard a treasure, are too often those who loot it.
Something always dies when the lion feeds – and yet there is meat for those that follow him.
Duplicity thy name is woman!
Play the game without mercy, play to win.
As they slithered up the muddy bank, scores of tiny silver fish that had been feasting on the open wounds were slow to relinquish their hold and were drawn out with the carcasses. Stranded upon the mud-banks, they flopped and quivered like stars that had fallen to earth.
We are all mere insects caught in the web that the gods spin for us.
The branch breaks that will not bend with the wind. You must learn to bend”.
Goodbye, my mistress”, I whispered. “Farewell, my heart”.
Then she looked at his eyes and her panic smoothed away. With those eyes watching over her she was never to feel frightened again, not until the very end and that was a long time away. Going into his love was like going into a castle, a thick-walled place. A safe place where no one else could enter. The first feeling of it was so strong that she could only stand quietly and let the warmth wrap her.
As I am sure you know, we seafaring men are a superstitious lot.
Good intelligence wins battles long before the first arrow is shot or the first sword is drawn from its scabbard.
Unlike corn or other insipid foods, meat rouses the demon in the heart of a warrior.
I learned that what men believe about the gods is mostly their own wishful imaginings. The idea that a man can bend the immortals to his will with prayer and sacrifice or pious confession is ludicrous. The immortals do only what suits them best, and that is care for their own power and pleasure.
She was a lovely vessel, with long clean lines and a high transom. Looking at her it was not difficult to understand why Crete was the preeminent naval power of the world. This was the fastest and most powerful ship on all the seas.
The thing I hate most about the gods is the fact that they are seldom at hand when you need them most.
Young love has a peculiar splendor all of its own.