Henry Rider Haggard. Cleopatra (№ 175550)

And yet in my soul still burning flame; I only changed outwardly, for time and grief have no power over the immortal spirit of man. The seasons are changing, can fly Hope, like the bird of Passion breaks the wings of an iron cage of Destiny; Dreams dissipate, just woven from the mists palaces at sunrise; Faith runs dry, just gushing from the ground spring; the Loneliness cuts us from people, just the endless Sands of the desert; old Age creeps up on us as night, and hangs over our shame is covered with a gray bowed head, Yes, chained to the wheel of Fate, we are experiencing all the vicissitudes which exposes us to life: soar up to the top, as kings; down in the dust, as slaves; then love, then hate, then drowning in luxury, eke in abject poverty. And still all the twists and turns of our life we abide in this great miracle of our Essence.