What Do You Do There, Moon, In

Every Man Remembers His Childhood As A Kind Of Mythical Age, Just As Every Nation's Childhood Is Its Mythical Age.

What Do You Do There, Moon, In The Sky? Tell Me What You Do, Silent Moon. When Evening Comes You Rise And Go Contemplating Wastelands; Then You Set.

Real Misanthropes Are Not Found In Solitude, But In The World; Since It Is Experience Of Life, And Not Philosophy, Which Produces Real Hatred Of Mankind.

The Old Man, Especially If He Is In Society In The Privacy Of His Thoughts, Though He May Protest The Opposite, Never Stops Believing That, Through Some Singular Exception Of The Universal Rule, He Can In Some Unknown And Inexplicable Way Still Make An Impression On Women.

Rest Forever, Tired Heart. The Final Illusion Has Perished. The One We Believed Eternal Is Gone. Just Like That. Out The Door Desire Follows Hope. Rest Forever. Enough Throbbing. Nothing Deserves Your Attention Nor Is The Earth Worth A Sigh. Bitterness And Boredom Is Life, Nothing Else Ever, And The World Is Mud. Quiet Now. Despair For The Last Time. Fate Gives Us Dying As A Gift. Now Turn From The Hills, The Ugly Hidden Power Which Rules For The Common Evil And The Infinite Vanity Of It All.