The devil is not as black as he is painted.
The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and likewise pain.
As, pricked out with less and greater lights, between the poles of the universe, the Milky Way so gleameth white as to set very sages questioning.
This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.
If you give people light, they will find their own way.
The more souls who resonate together, the greater the intensity of their love... and, mirror-like... each soul reflects the other.