Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. The faithful fellow will never leave me. 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. " "What did I forget?" "The breathless days and the faded, pitiless sky.
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