Analysis of SORTS

To think that I might have been born a seer, I should not now have to look with suspicion and suspicion on the Galad-Gaul World and the increasingly easily bribed man in it. If I should meet a child-souled adult, I would curiously befriend him rather than tolerate being insidiously and insidiously exploited.

We must live in an age farther and farther away. Distant harmonies can only hold us together in the borderland of Beginning and End. As mortal dust-eyes of the great Whole, we lie at the mercy of howling Executioner-Deities... I wish the One-Bearer with all his golden heart would find me, and guide me through my remaining twenty-one years. - A long-arched crumbling bridge stretches to me from my wounded past, through which will toils and staggers as well as determined action.

A hazy ball of mist covers the still undiscovered, unknown shores, and deep inside I still feel that from here, where I now stand, I hardly have a second chance left to find myself again, to build myself up and live a new, happier life somewhere else. My help - perhaps hardly any, if there was any - now seems to have sucked the desires of the deed completely out of me. Tangled tangles of promises still hold the flames of my imitt-absent hope and flickering hope.

The cinder of my childish optimism often grins at me in a mocking, cynical way: "You want a new life for yourself? You couldn't even live the old one to the full! Come on, you pathetic child!

The dross of my childish optimism often grins at me in a mocking, cynical way: "You want a new life for yourself? You couldn't even live the old one to the full! You pathetic, childish fool!" Death is still the stronger, more merciless judge-sayer than Life!