It is night: now do all leaping fountains speak louder. And my soul too is a leaping fountain. It is night: only now do all songs of lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover. Something unquenched, unquenchable, is in me, that wants to speak out. A craving for love is in me, that itself speaks the language of love.
Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth it increase its own knowledge,--did ye know that before?
