It is no wonder if Art frequently prefers Illusion to Truth: for Illusion is her servant, but Truth her mistress.
Wail not too wildly for expiring Love: The Love that dies was never quite alive.
As the bud a leaf, so at last the thought becomes a word.
The three eldest children of Necessity: God, the World and love.
Then is Love blest, when from the cup of the body he drinks the wine of the soul.
Passion is Love's blind guide, but the only one he hath.