"When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: "Why?" He replied: "Because no one admired me."
"Tell her thisAnd more,—That the king of the seasWeeps too, old, helpless man.The bustling fatesHeap his hands with corpsesUntil he stands like a childWith surplus of toys."
"When the prophet, a complacent fat man,Arrived at the mountain-topHe cried: "Woe to my knowledge!I intended to see good white landsAnd bad black lands—But the scene is grey."
"It was wrong to do this," said the angel."You should live like a flower,Holding malice like a puppy,Waging war like a lambkin.""Not so," quoth the manWho had no fear of spirits;"It is only wrong for angelsWho can live like the flowers,Holding malice like the puppies,Waging war like the lambkins."