The man who writes has an oppressive and unhappy fate. This is because the nature of his work obliges him to use words; that is, to convert his inner surge into immobility. Every word is an adamantine shell which encloses a great explosive force. To discover its meaning you must let it burst inside you like a bomb and in this way liberate the soul which it imprisons.

Once there was a rabbi who always made his will and tearfully bade farewell to his wife and children before he went to the synagogue to pray, for he never knew if he would emerge from the prayer alive. As he used to say, “When I pronounce a word, for instance Lord, this word shatters my heart. I am terror-stricken and do not know if I shall be able to make the leap to the following words: have pity on me.”

O for the person able to read a poem in this way, or the word massacre, or a letter from the woman he loves-or this Report by a man who struggled much in his life and yet managed to accomplish so very little!

– Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco