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I'm born again! I am disgusted with myself, with an imperishable pith of me, a sort of enmity akin to xenophobia: the human being I see in mirrors is a guest from far, a very far off world. How dare you are embezzling me - the soul, the mind, the name! Well, name is yours but what about the same old fountain pen I thought I left behind? Oh, sweet oblivion I failed to find! The death is cheating... On the other hand, perhaps, it's not so bad for us, my friend. To die, to be embodied and again to fill the dearest old fountain pen. * См. перевод в комментарии 1. |
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