If I Write What I

Sometimes, When I Wake Up At Night, I Feel Invisible Hands Weaving My Destiny.

It Is Noble To Be Shy, Illustrious Not To Know How To Act, Great Not To Have A Gift For Living.

God Wills, Man Dreams, The Work Is Born.

I Realize That I Was All Error And Deviation, That I Never Lived, That I Existed Only In So Far As I Filled Time With Consciousness And Thought.

Multipliquei-me Para Me Sentir.