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meaning the days. A little like rain: I like rain, but if it would stop that! Since then, they go
, the days would have to be something done on each, and nothing was done.
At each there was this bad mood - God, how banal! - Bad mood, instead of mourning. Condescension, no compassion, jealousy - and it could still be concern. In short: life - rather than loving.
But is that so? Is life like that?
Or should it be so?

It seems so. It seems so, for how, how can it be otherwise? Whenever open the gates of solitude, when the melody stops when the sun rises, it is inexorable, inevitable: the bad mood - oh, unbearably banal, the condescension, jealousy, envy, hardness - the memory of the pain.
If you are alone, lonely, one makes any mistakes, not a eiziger leads from path starting from, the way that you put back and forth all the way to their own purposes.
Yes, it seems to be so, one is doomed to hurt. And to feel it, because there is unfortunately also a conscience.
But we still want to fight for love's sake, he is done for love's sake, that there is love. The true love that endures all the truth speaks
; - Love is like a ray of light.