“For all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.”
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These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.
For even in dreams a good deed is not lost.
Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.
What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.
