cadavers' intestines hanging like a parade streamers off the sides of tables, skulls bobbing in boiling pots, organs strewn on the floor being eaten by dogs.....

We are biology. We are reminded of this at the beginning and the end, at birth and at death. In between we do what we can to forget.

It is difficult to put words to the smell of decomposing human. It is dense and cloying, sweet but not flower-sweet. Halfway between rotting fruit and rotting meat.

compressed into boxes, packed in sawdust, ... trussed up in sacks, roped up like hams...

Many people will find this book disrespectful. There is nothing amusing about being dead, they will say. Ah, but there is.

Not that there's anything wrong with just lying around on your back. In it's way, rotting is interesting too, as we will see. It's just that there are other ways to spend your time as a cadaver.

Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.

A traditionalist’s values are gleaned from all that is good in the past.

To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

More than the disappearing trees and roses, it’s the human tendency to suppress the ‘Natural Voice’ of the ‘Nature’s Man’ which is sorrowful.

It's still magic even if you know how it's done.

Strength is not determined by the looks but through action.

Always work with/surround yourself with people who help make you a better version of you. Kindly avoid those who don't.

The mind is its own place and in itself Can make a heaven of hell a hell of heaven.

Bear up the hands that hang down by faith and prayer support the tottering knees. Storm the throne of grace and persevere therein and mercy will come down.

Stone Age. Bronze Age. Iron Age. We define entire epics of humanity by the technology they use.