Death walks faster than the wind and never returns what he has taken.

Death walks faster than the wind and never returns what he has taken.

If you looked down to the bottom of my soul, you would understand fully the source of my longing and – pity me. Even the open, transparent lake has its unknown depths, which no divers know.

To move, to breathe, to fly, to float, To gain all while you give, To roam the roads of lands remote, To travel is to live.

And the Top spoke no more of his old love; for that dies away when the beloved objects has lain for five years in a roof gutter and got wet through; yes, one does not know her again when one meets her in the dust box.

Most of the people who will walk after me will be children, so make the beat keep time with short steps.

When the bird of the heart begins to sing, too often will reason stop up her ears.