"How does one hate a country, or love one?... I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is the love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing" ― Ursula K. Le Guin

Revisões da matéria dada (XLIII)

"Apenas o mastro em que a bandeira é hasteada e o vento. Nenhuma bandeira” (e, mais genericamente, aqui)