I have to say to myself that some birds aren't very close. Their feathers are just too bright. When they fly away, you know it's a sin to lock them up, and you'll be inspired by them. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I think I really miss my friends.
No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
