I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare.
Tell me your past, my beloved, for a man is his past, and is to be known by it.
Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it.
What the heart knows today the head will understand tomorrow.
Because our lives are cowardly and sly, Because we do not dare to take or give, Because we scowl and pass each other by, We do not live; we do not dare to live.
Can a spear divine the Eternal Will?