This evening, which I have tried to spirit away, is a strange burden to me. While time moves on, while the day will soon end and I already wish it gone, there are men who have entrusted all their hopes to it, all their love and their last efforts. There are dying men or others who are waiting for a debt to come due, who wish that tomorrow would never come. There are others for whom the day will break like a pang of remorse; and others who are tired, for whom the night will never be long enough to give them the rest that they need. And I - who have lost my day - what right do I have to wish that tomorrow comes?
Alain-FournierAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: french
- Born: October 3, 1886
- Died: September 22, 1914
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My wife was on a visit to her aunt's, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.
'Why,' said I, glancing up at my companion, 'that was surely the bell? Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?'
'Except yourself I have none,' he answered. 'I do not encourage visitors.
Arthur Conan Doyle
