The Sun, The Hearth Of Affection And

O Seasons, O Castles, What Soul Is Without Flaws? All Its Lore Is Known To Me, Felicity, It Enchants Us All.

Misfortune Was My God.

But, Truly, I Have Wept Too Much! The Dawns Are Heartbreaking. Every Moon Is Atrocious And Every Sun Bitter.

Hay Que Ser Absolutamente Moderno

But The Problem Is To Make The Soul Into A Monster