Art Is Indeed Not The Bread But

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

Feelings Of Man Are Always Pure And The Brightest To The Meeting Time And Farewell.

Every Man Regards His Own Life As The New Year's Eve Of Time.

Has It Never Occurred To Us, When Surrounded By Sorrows, That They May Be Sent To Us Only For Our Instruction, As We Darken The Eyes Of Birds When We Wish Them To Sing?

Without God There Is For Mankind No Purpose, No Goal, No Hope, Only A Wavering Future, An Eternal Dread Of Every Darkness.