He who has
seem everything empty itself is close
I found the
whole of my first world in my meager bread.
It is when I assent to nothing that I assent to all.
Man, when he
is merely what seems to be,
He who does
not fill his world
superficial wearies me, it wearies me
A hundred men together are the hundredth part of man.
The far away,
the very far, the farthest,
wound speaks its own word.