To Think Things Out Properly And Fairly,

I Collect My Tools: Sight, Smell, Touch, Taste, Hearing, Intellect. Night Has Fallen.

I Say One Thing, You Write Another, And Those Who Read You Understand Still Something Else! I Say: Cross, Death, Kingdom Of Heaven, God...and What Do You Understand? Each Of You Attaches His Own Suffering, Interests And Desires To Each Of These Sacred Words, And My Words Disappear, My Soul Is Lost. I Can't Stand It Any Longer!

Lord, Bend Me, Or I Shall Rot. Lord Do Not Bend Me Too Much, For I Shall Break. Lord Bend Me Too Much, Who Cares If I Break!

To Cleave That Sea [the Aegean] In The Gentle Autumnal Season, Murmuring The Name Of Each Islet, Is To My Mind The Joy Most Apt To Transport The Heart Of Man Into Paradise.

The Struggle Between God And Man Breaks Out In Everyone, Together With The Longing For Reconciliation. Most Often This Struggle Is Unconscious And Short-lived. A Weak Soul Does Not Have The Endurance To Resist The Flesh For Very Long. It Grows Heavy, Becomes Flesh Itself, And The Contest Ends. But Among Responsible Men, Men Who Keep Their Eyes Riveted Day And Night Upon The Supreme Duty, The Conflict Between Flesh And Spirit Breaks Out Mercilessly And May Last Until Death.