But I Think Happiness Springs From Another

Amid The Stillness Of The Night, In The Depths Of The Ravine, From The Direction In Which The Corpses Lay Suddenly Resounded A Kind Of Inhuman, Frightful Laughter In Which Quivered Despair, And Joy, And Cruelty, And Suffering, And Pain, And Sobbing, And Derision; The Heart-rending And Spasmodic Laughter Of The Insane Or Condemned.

But I Think Happiness Springs From Another Source, A Far Deeper One That Doesn't Depend On Will Because It Comes From Love.

The Sky Is One Whole, The Water Another; And Between Those Two Infinities The Soul Of Man Is In Loneliness.

I Know That Even The Meanest Person Has Still At His Disposition High-sounding Words Wherewith To Mask His Real Character.

Anxiety Prepares The Organism Badly For An Ordeal Which Even Under More Favorable Circumstances Would Not Be An Easy Thing To Bear.