It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.
Nothing is more real than nothing.
There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
You cried for night - it falls. Now cry in darkness.
What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?