Phillip of SpainThere are so many who depend on us. Their hungry eyes tax our liberality. Ravenous as wounded animals parched with blood, they have heard of us. They have heard we sleep in peace. Peace. The quiet heart follows the quiet belly. Armies traverse the fields on the easy road to battle, and only the stomach protests. Governors commandeer what remains. The soldiers pass, back and forth, unable to discern whether they go to war, or return. A truce is arranged, and the fields are planted anew. By summer, the armies break forth, and no one remembers. Next spring, there will be another truce, but no planting. The temper of men is not determined by green shoots in rich fields. No. The temper of men is hungry for dreams. The night is crowded with too much sleeping.