Words Give Wings To The

Ye Children Of Man! Whose Life Is A Span, Protracted With Sorrow From Day To Day, Naked And Featherless, Feeble And Querulous, Sickly, Calamitous Creatures Of Clay!

Have You Ever, Looking Up, Seen A Cloud Like To A Centaur, A Part, Or A Wolf, Or A Bull?

Even If You Persuade Me, You Won’t Persuade Me.

Thou Shouldst Not Decide Until Thou Hast Heard What Both Have To Say.

Weak Mortals, Chained To The Earth, Creatures Of Clay As Frail As The Foliage Of The Woods, You Unfortunate Race, Whose Life Is But Darkness, As Unreal As A Shadow, The Illusion Of A Dream.