As I Watched The Seagulls, I Thought,

The Canary Is Like A Man's Soul. It Sees Bars Around It, But Instead Of Despairing, It Sings.

When Shall I At Last Retire Into Solitude Alone, Without Companions, Without Joy And Without Sorrow, With Only The Sacred Certainty That All Is A Dream? When, In My Rags—without Desires—shall I Retire Contented Into The Mountains? When, Seeing That My Body Is Merely Sickness And Crime, Age And Death, Shall I—free, Fearless, And Blissful—retire To The Forest? When? When, Oh When?

Everything In This World Has A Hidden Meaning, I Thought. Men, Animals, Trees, Stars, They Are All Hieroglyphics; Woe To Anyone Who Begins To Decipher Them And Guess What They Mean.... When You See Them, You Do Not Understand Them. You Think They Are Really Men, Animals, Trees, Stars. It Is Only Years Later, Too Late, That You Understand.

How Does The Light Of A Star Set Out And Plunge Into Black Eternity In Its Immortal Course? The Star Dies, But The Light Never Dies; Such Also Is The Cry Of Freedom.

Freedom Was My First Great Desire. The Second, Which Remains Hidden Within Me To This Day, Tormenting Me, Was The Desire For Sanctity. Hero Together With Saint: Such Is Mankind's Supreme Model.