You're Something Between A Dream

World's Use Is Cold, World's Love Is Vain, World's Cruelty Is Bitter Bane; But Is Not The Fruit Of Pain.

What We Call Life Is A Condition Of The Soul. And The Soul Must Improve In Happiness And Wisdom, Except By Its Own Fault. These Tears In Our Eyes, These Faintings Of The Flesh, Will Not Hinder Such Improvement.

Children Use The Fist Until They Are Of Age To Use The Brain.

Do Ye Hear The Children Weeping, O My Brothers?

Oh, The Little Birds Sang East, And The Little Birds Sang West.