Who would later be known as "the man with the hands of God" Vanished in the midst of war and reappeared with the return of peace. The statue still shrouded in the veil of mystery was his rare masterpiece And in that angel, an unknown story is hidden..."To kindle the spark of life in cold, speechless stone, As the ordinary folk say, would be nothing more than mere vanity. I simply take things into my hands to allow what exists to exist And, as if to kiss that warmth, give shape to my thoughts..."The windmill embraced the sky and went on spinning atop the hill His studio was a silent shadow that seemed to forbid entry to all othersHe worked all by himself, not even knowing the face of our child...{What is lacking is not cleverness of design -- it is the imagination to surpass reality.} "Ah... light... ah... more light... that is to say, creation... the light of sorrow..."Though he swore never to meet them in his life, on his frequent visits to the monastery He would listen to the laughing voices of the children through the wall... "The stone you are now holding in your hand is very fragile You must never let it go, no matter what should confront you..."He worked alone day after day, not even knowing the face of our child...{What is necessary is not regret over days past -- it is the affection to weave illusions.} "Ah... light... ah... more light... that is to say, expiation... the light of salvation..."However wise a man may be, he cannot stop the flow of the sands of time There were only a few grains left in his silver hourglass...A small flame was lit in this world at the cost of his mother's light And this was the futile, dying struggle of a foolish man who had grown to hate that glimmering...He spread the wings of his imagination, and soon the wings on the statue's back were spread as well. -- "Ah... I have no more regrets... you've finally smiled at me...