What is the wind?
Nothing.
What is the sky?
Nothing.
What do we know?
Nothing.
What is fame?
Nothing.
What is my heart?
Nothing.
What is my soul?
Nothing.
What are we?
We are nothing.
We think we progress wonderfully in the arts and sciences as one century follows another. What does it amount to? It does not teach us the all-why. It does not let us cease to wonder what it is that we are doing, where it is that we are going. It does not teach us why the green comes again to the old, old hills in the spring; why the benign balm-o'-Gilead shines wet and sweet after the rain; why the red never fails
