There is no song as true as that which the heart sings.
No path more unfamiliar.
No sorrow but its own.
For it will feel, and so may carry, the pains of those it loves,
yet, none can feel its potency but the owner of its key.
No heart and mind are the same.
Similar ones are found and cling to each other,
yet each has its own parcel of trinkets
and thoughts it alone holds.
No one can fully know the heart of another—
with exception to its Maker:
He who knows the hearts of all.
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