mind has had wit to invent; solitude is never alone, silence always goes with it.
It is a pity that the misty garments of this lady called Solitude are borne most frequently by that seductive page whose name is Laziness.
But sometimes, say the poets, solitude gives a creative moment. The soul is lost then and trembles, inchning to receive some vision flying in from beyond.
For this reason only fools or sages love solitude greatly.
What was the countess?
Let us see. It is time to descend from cloudy heights to life’s realities. Let the countess enter! How? As a young maiden—can there be anything more charming under the sun? Such a beautiful mixture of blood, body, perfumes, flowers, sun rays—and what else?
Our illusions.
Fly in, golden butterfly.
