For All Evils There Are Two Remedies

You Scholars, You're In Communication With The Devil.

You Who Weep For Pleasures Fled, While Dragging On A Life Of Care, All Your Woes Will Melt In Air, If To God Your Tears Are Shed, You Who Weap!

Nothing Makes Time Pass Or Shortens The Way Like A Thought That Absorbs In Itself All The Faculties Of The One Who Is Thinking. External Existence Is Then Like A Sleep Of Which This Thought Is The Dream. Under Its Influence, Time Has No More Measure, Space Has No More Distance.

You Who Are In Power Have Only The Means That Money Produces — We Who Are In Expectation, Have Those Which Devotion Prompts.

It Was Like The Eve Of A Battle; The Hearts Beat, The Eyes Laughed, And They Felft That The Life They Were Perhaps Going To Lose, Was After All, A Good Thing.