Yellow Hat. The thing-in-itself for which philosophers have sought—that is here.
Purple Hair. We have broken the spell of cause and consequence.
Red Sword. Will has won its first and its last victory over fate.
Green Ears. The stupid serpent of wisdom swallowing its own tail has grown great and finished the task.
Blue Face. Grubbing logic has looked into the mirror and discovered itself to be gigantic caprice.
Yellow Hat. Infinity has turned inside-out and become nothingness.
Purple Hair. The great contradiction has annihilated itself.
Red Sword. Let us keep silence before the solution of the ancient riddle.
(A long, dark silence. Slow curtain.)
There is something transitory in the moods evoked by rhyme. For rhyme shimmers on the surface of language like sunlight on the surface of a shallow stream; it conducts the mind as in a circle; its sphere is a world of harmonious delights. Rhyme is to the mind what sentimentality is to art.—Francis Grierson.