There Are Souls Which Fall

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

The Darkness Of Death Is Like The Evening Twilight; It Makes All Objects Appear More Lovely To The Dying.

The Heart Needs Not For Its Heaven Much Space, Nor Many Stars Therein, If Only The Star Of Love Has Arisen.

Art Is Indeed Not The Bread But The Wine Of Life.

Man's Feelings Are Always Purest And Most Glowing In The Hour Of Meeting And Of Farewell.