There, just try to make sense of the human being! He doesn’t believe in God, but he does believe that if the bridge of his nose itches, then he’s sure to die. He totally ignores the creation of a poet that is clear as day and imbued with harmony and the lofty wisdom of simplicity, yet he can’t wait to get his hands on the kind of work where someone bold as brass takes nature and muddles, twists, distorts and turns it inside out, and that will suit him to a T, and he will begin shouting: ‘Here it is, here is true knowledge of the secrets of the heart!’ All his life he hasn’t cared a pin for
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