Nothing's a gift, everything is borrowed. I'm drowning in debts up to my ears. I will be forced to pay for myself with myself, to give my life for my life. It has been appointed that the heart must be returned, and the liver, too, and each individual finger. It's too late to cancel the contract. Debts will be extracted from me along with my skin. I wander this earth amid a throng of fellow debtors. Some are burdened by the obligation of paying off their wings. Others, like it or not, are charged for their leaves. The Debt side encumbers each tissue in us. There is no eyelash, no petiole to keep forever. The register is meticulous and it's evident that we are to be left with nothing. I can't remember where, when and why I consented to open this account. The protest against this account is what we call Soul. And it is the only thing not on the list.

(Wislawa Szymboska)