The human soul is sheltered thus in a melamine envelope which, if slighted by frail or malicious intentions could, with the edge of a knife, reveal its acumen. But it is not the flesh that determines either the nature or the location of the soft fertile thicket that freely spawns a utopia. The utopia must roll and frolic in the morning mist as it gently lifts its feathers before it can ever hatch in the dark glass of the mind.
(Our translation)
Ralphie Descartes
