There is no aim in me any more … Therefore so quiet are my days, one after one the same and bobbing like corks of dreaming fishermen, who forget completely why they come here. They sit on handrails of a bridge, surprised by the ease with which they can balance the emptiness that always seems to threaten them from below their lives. Their eyes are closed. Their lids are motionless. Their faces are so peaceful and so thin that the Infinite can surely walk through them as it may please.
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