There is no other way. " "What did I forget?" "The breathless days and the faded, pitiless sky. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh.
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