Who will then you live!

When man, this now still insidious gambler, has thrown away and sunk his valuable, lasting things - to say what: true, good, honest - he will stare hesitantly and in bewilderment at our books, which also carry knowledge of morality and beauty, as worthless, leaky pots, like a misguided, manipulated idiot, while the lost memory is dying.

There may yet be some who will turn to good account the thought-provoking testimonies of fiction; when the ancients of the mind are also anchored with useful, creative spirits! - Will there still be vulnerable human minds in the distant future, which is still in its infancy, in our infancy, in our infancy?!

And will this feeble, mediocre man ever understand that he is obliged to keep and guard within himself, as a sign of stigma, the human law: the great Humanity, which never asks in self-sacrifice - but gives?! And will the sentimental and sacred trust of the common evening stories remain? From where can we still develop a more accepting social attitude?

Will there still remain, in the reddening sunset of immortal romances, the fateful vow: "If you accept me, you will be by my side for thirty more years, for I need your life-saving love!" - Thirty I am well past, and, reflecting on this mischievous age, I would humbly warn them with a formula of soul-contaminating linguistic barbarisms, for it may be that the alamusian desire to act is also a cowardice, it may be that the blind men of ages to come will no longer really understand the power of these present compliments - but perhaps the disembodied heart-spirit of humanity will embrace the ever-thought-of idea-rocon we are with it!