The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.
Song—Open the door to me, oh
by Robert Burns
OH, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh,
Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh.
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh:
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh.
The wan Moon is setting beyond the white wave,
And Time is setting with me, oh:
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I’ll ne’er trouble them, nor thee, oh.
She has open’d the door, she has open’d it wide,
She sees the pale corse on the plain, oh:
“My true love!” she cried, and sank down by his side,
Never to rise again, oh.