If you have no more happiness to give: Give me your pain.
Should we not be moved rather than chilled by the knowledge that he might have attained his greatness only through his frailties?
Poetry is something in-between the dream and its interpretation.
Whoever reaches into a rosebush may seize a handful of flowers; but no matter how many one holds, it's only a small portion of the whole. Nevertheless, a handful is enough to experience the nature of the flowers. Only if we refuse to reach into the bush, because we can't possibly seize all the flowers at once, or if we spread out our handful of roses as if it were the whole of the bush itself -- only then does it bloom apart from us, unknown to us, and we are left alone.
