We have figured out nothing except the way to live: The way of captives rather than orphans, The captivity of being rather than the freedom of nothingness. The way of control without freedom rather than freedom with the risk of disorder, The structures of society rather than the void of individuality. The way of what is not rather than what is, The illusion of happiness and lies rather than the reality of wisdom and despair. Illusion is the cornerstone of lies, Lies are the cornerstone of dreams, Dreams are the cornerstone of joy, The dreams behind the lies we live by. This is the poetry of Hippolyte Flandrin.