I Do Not Speak Of What I

One Must Keep Repeating The Truth.

Yet Through Delivery Orators Succeed, I Feel That I Am Far Behind Indeed.

Words Are Mere Sound And Smoke, Dimming The Heavenly Light.

The Theater Has Often Been At Variance With The Pulpit; They Ought Not To Quarrel. How Much Is It To Be Wished That In Both The Celebration Of Nature And Of God Were Intrusted To None But Men Of Noble Minds.

Here Too It’s Masquerade, I Find: As Everywhere, The Dance Of Mind. I Grasped A Lovely Masked Procession, And Caught Things From A Horror Show… I’d Gladly Settle For A False Impression, If It Would Last A Little Longer, Though.