What Sort Of God Would It Be,

Names Are But Noise And Smoke, Obscuring Heavenly Light.

Sin Writes Histories, Goodness Is Silent. [ger., Das Uebel Macht Eine Geschichte Und Das Gute Keine.]

Love Of Truth Shows Itself In This, That A Man Knows How To Find And Value The Good In Everything.

All Poetry Is Supposed To Be Instructive But In An Unnoticeable Manner; It Is Supposed To Make Us Aware Of What It Would Be Valuable To Instruct Ourselves In; We Must Deduce The Lesson On Our Own, Just As With Life.

The World Is For Thousands A Freak Show; The Images Flicker Past And Vanish; The Impressions Remain Flat And Unconnected In The Soul. Thus They Are Easily Led By The Opinions Of Others, Are Content To Let Their Impressions Be Shuffled And Rearranged And Evaluated Differently.