For our part, when we feel, we evaporate; ah, we breatheourselves out and away; with each new heartfirewe give off a fainter scent. True, someone may tell us: you're in my blood, this room, Spring itselfis filled with you . . . To what end? He can't hold us, we vanish within him and around him.
Rainer Maria RilkeAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: deutsch
- Born: December 4, 1875
- Died: December 29, 1926
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They would grow up grappling with ways of living with what happened. They would try to tell themselves that in terms of geological time it was an insignificant event. Just a blink of the Earth Woman's eye. That Worse Things had happened. That Worse Things kept happening. But they would find no comfort in the thought.
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For it is just this question of pain that parts
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sin,—so long, I tell you, you are an animal, thinking a little less obscurely
what an animal feels.
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