Music Is Moonlight In The Gloomy Night

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

A Sky Full Of Silent Suns.

Every Man Regards His Own Life As The New Year's Eve Of Time.

With So Many Thousand Joys, Is It Not Black Ingratitude To Call The World A Place Of Sorrow And Torment?

Every Friend Is To The Other A Sun, And A Sunflower Also. He Attracts And Follows.