To Die Is Nothing; But It Is

To Live A Life Which Is A Perpetual Falsehood Is To Suffer Unknown Tortures.

It May Be Remarked In Passing That Success Is An Ugly Thing. Men Are Deceived By Its False Resemblences To Merit.

Our Life Dreams The Utopia. Our Death Achieves The Ideal.

The Pupil Dilates In Darkness And In The End Finds Light, Just As The Soul Dilates In Misfortune And In The End Finds God.

In The Opera We Call Love, The Libretto Is Almost Nothing.