My joy in reclusion, the poetry of hibernation...

If he could sleep, he thought, sleep through the unhappy months, the heart's hunger, the months of death and cold and not having what you most want, and wake with time gone past and blurred and a new year coming. But perhaps it is too early in the year, he thought after that, and besides, he is not a bear. Not yet at least. 

Never give in. Never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. Even if you know that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, you should still plant an apple tree. You never know what's around the corner. It could be everything. Or it could be nothing. You keep putting one foot in front of the other, and then one day you look back and you've walked half way around the world.