There is nothing, Umbopa, that he cannot do, there are no mountains he may not climb, there are no deserts he cannot cross, save a mountain and a desert of which you are spared the knowledge, if love leads him and he holds his life in his hands counting it as nothing, ready to keep it or lose it as Heaven above may order." I translated.
"Great words, my father," answered the Zulu--I always called him a Zulu, though he was not really one--"great swelling words fit to fill the mouth of a man.

Thou art right, my father Incubu.

Listen! what is life?
It is a feather, it is the seed of the grass, blown hither and thither, sometimes multiplying itself and dying in the act, sometimes carried away into the heavens.

But if that seed be good and heavy it may perchance travel a little way on the road it wills.

It is well to try and journey one's road and to fight with the air.