We Live Always Under The

Breathing, Sleeping, Drinking, Eating, Working, Dreaming, Everything We Do Is Dying. To Live, In Fact, Is To Die.

I Have Seen Mad People, And I Have Known Some Who Were Quite Intelligent, Lucid, Even Clear-sighted In Every Concern Of Life, Except On One Point. They Could Speak Clearly, Readily, Profoundly On Everything; Till Their Thoughts Were Caught In The Breakers Of Their Delusions And Went To Pieces There, Were Dispersed And Swamped In That Furious And Terrible Sea Of Fogs And Squalls Which Is Called Madness.

The Glasses Were Half Full, Which Meant That The Guests Were Completely So

We Breathe Love As We Breathe Air; We Hold It In Ourselves As We Hold Our Thoughts. Nothing More Exists For Us.

Those Men, Those Of Former Times, Had Soul And Eyes That In No Way Resemble Ours, And In Their Veins, Along With Their Blood, Flowed Something That Has Disappeared: Love And Admiration For The Beautiful.