Truly men hate the truth; they'd liefer meet a tiger on the road.
Does it matter whether you hate yourself? At least love your eyes that can see, your mind that can hear the music, the thunder of the wings.
Long live freedom and damn the ideologies.
The heads of strong old age are beautiful beyond all grace of youth.
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.
You making haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic.