That confusion, won in the power of foreign sources, springs from the sentient being. Faith clings to hope, the smith of happiness is honoured in duration. Confidence prides itself in the emptiness of words, the fullness of ripeness is placed in front of the gate of ignorance. Shamed by the faint foreboding of fame, all action imagines itself to be the eternally new belief in better things. Every fusion of knowledge is bound in the enquiring mind, the explanation of knowledge is given to fame. He whose gaze joins every particle to the whole, nourishes the whole in the particles of smallness.
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