They are Nietzsche's over-men, these primitive Albanians - something between kings and tigers.
Gaze not on swans, in whose soft breast,
A full-hatched beauty seems to nest
Nor snow, which falling from the sky
Hovers in its virginity.
Swans moulting die, snow melts to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends