The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful.
This is one of the useful arts.
We have the liberal arts and we have the useful arts.
There is an art in lighting a fire.
I went up and knocked at the door.
So there was nothing for it only to stay the night or to foot it out.
I never will forget that day.
What day of the week was it?
How much is the clock fast now?
There was no human figure near him nor any sound borne to him over the air.
How far had he walked? What hour was it?
He halted suddenly and heard his heart in the silence.
A voice from beyond the world was calling.
Yet eternity had no end.
He began to speak in a quiet tone.
It would be a gloomy secret night.
He stood still in the middle of the roadway, his heart clamouring against his bosom in a tumult.
He was in another world: he had awakened from a slumber of centuries.
His blood was in revolt.
He returned to his wanderings.
A keen October wind was blowing round the bank.
Now, then! There’s a memory for you!
It will calm my heart. My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.
He wondered had he been in her thoughts as she had been in his.
Welcome to our trusty friend!
No sound of footsteps came up or down the road.
The door opened quietly and closed.
By thinking of things you could understand them.
Let him remember that too when he grows up.
There is another way but I won’t tell you what it is.
He saw the dark entrance hall of the castle.
It was lovely to be tired.
It was very big to think about everything and everywhere.
What was after the universe? Nothing.
He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry.
He still tried to think what was the right answer.
He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.
But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.
It was like something in a book.
Gone Fishin’
Ceci n’est pas assez.
Entrons dans le vif du sujet.
J’avais déjà lu une description semblable dans des livres et tout cela m’a paru un jeu.
Au début, je ne l’ai pas pris au sérieux.
Et c’était comme quatre coups brefs que je frappais sur la porte du malheur.
J’ai compris que j’avais détruit l’équilibre du jour.
Il m’a semblé que le ciel s’ouvrait sur toute son étendue pour laisser pleuvoir du feu.
C’est alors que tout a vacillé.
Mais j’ai fait un pas, un seul pas en avant.
J’avais envie de retrouver le murmure de son eau.
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