Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls.
There was a child went forth everyday, And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or pity or dread, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day... or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
All truths wait in all things.
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
I dance with the dancers.
Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate death.