Why are you so inclinded in knowing why he might have been implying something?
Our happiness here is all vain glory,
This false world is but transitory,
The flesh is weak, the Fiend is slee
Timor mortis conturbat me.
--William Dunbar
Our happiness here is all vain glory,
This false world is but transitory,
The flesh is weak, the Fiend is slee
Timor mortis conturbat me.
--William Dunbar
What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music. — Søren Kierkegaard, Philosopher & Theologian
