I Have Never Been Able, Really, To

I Longed To Be Forgotten In Order To Be Able To Complain To Myself.

There Is A Life And There Is A Death, And There Are Beauty And Melancholy Between.

In This Vast Country That He Had So Loved, He Was Alone.

I Knew A Pure Heart Who Refused Tot Be Mistrustful.... He Had Written At His Doorstep: "from Wherever You Are, Enter And Be Welcome". Who Do You Think Responded To This Lovely Invitation? The Militia, Who Made Themselves At Home And Gutted Him.

Of Course, True Love Is Exceptional - Two Or Three Times A Century, More Or Less. The Rest Of The Time There Is Vanity Or Boredom.