TuesdayMay 31, 2016
Dolendi modus, timendi non item. (To suffering there is a limit; to fearing, none.)
Seriously, I do not think I am fit for the Presidency.
Loushan Pass A hard west wind, in the vast frozen air wild geese shriek to the morning moon, frozen morning moon. Horse hoofs shatter the air and the bugle sobs. The grim pass is like iron yet today we will cross the summit in one step, cross the summit. Before us greenblue mountains are like the sea, the dying sun like blood. February 1935