Love can sun the realms of night.
Toil of science swells the wealth of art.
The mind is the eyesight of the soul.
I have enjoyed the happiness of the world; I have loved.
There are evil spirits who suddenly fix their abode in man's unguarded breast, causing us to commit devilish deeds, and then, hurrying back to their native hell, leave behind the stings of remorse in the poisoned bosom.
But how is the artist to protect himself against the corruption of the age which besets him on all sides?