Life is a festival only to the wise.
There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain.
There can be no excess to love, none to knowledge, none to beauty.
Society does not love its unmaskers.
If you believe in fate, believe in it, at least, for your good.
Society is frivolous, and shreds its day into scraps, its conversation into ceremonies and escapes.