We are not all able to do all things.
The medicine increases the disease.
I will be gone from here and sing my songs/ In the forest wilderness where the wild beasts are,/ And carve in letters on the little trees/ The story of my love, and as the trees/ Will grow letters too will grow, to cry/ In a louder voice the story of my love.
I have known sorrow and learned to aid the wretched.
Love begets love, love knows no rules, this is same for all.
Each draws to his best-loved.