'A little sad tonight. I'm getting old, and I'm not sure if I want to be human in my next life. The weight of intellect, with all those concepts separating this from that, spurning the beauty of instinct, the warmth of fur. I confess, I could have taken human birth a hundred times. But I kept saying, "Not yet, not yet..." I'm afraid that I too might become like men, a destroyer of the earth.'