The fairest thing in nature, a flower, still has its roots in earth and manure.
What you intuitively desire, that is possible to you.
Sleep seems to hammer out for me the logical conclusions of my vague days, and offer them to me as dreams.
Why doesn't the past decently bury itself, instead of sitting waiting to be admired by the present?
My soul is my great asset and my great misfortune.
I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.