In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn
What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.