With every breath inside my body, I wished I was Don Quixote, and I would charge like a madman into those windmills, and those arms would wrap themselves around me and hold me prisoner in an embrace worthy of a giant.
Widmung, no. 1 from Myrthen, S. 566 The song cycle Myrtle Op. written by Robert Schumann in 1840 is based on works by many poets and dedicated to Clara Wieck (in picture). The first movement was adapted by Liszt.
Ulysses and eulogies Gainsborough, Gainsbourg, Socrates All mean no light, everything Oh, the joy of nothing is a sweeter someth.