Select one
He who looks in through an open window never sees so many things as he who looks
at a shut window. There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more fertile, more
gloomy, or more dazzling.than a window lighted by a candle. What we can see in the
sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind the panes of a window. In
that dark or luminous hollow, life lives, ife dreams, le suffers
O Across the waves of roots, I can see a woman of middle age, wrinkled, poor,
who is always leaning over something, and who never goes out.
Perhaps you will say to me: "Are you sure that it is the real story?
Across the waves of roots, I can see a woman of middle age, wrinkled, poor, who is
always leaning over something, and who never goes out. Out of her face, out of her
dress, out of her attitude, out of nothing almost, I have made up the woman's story, and
sometimes I say it over to myself with tears.
And I go to bed, proud of having lived and suffered in others.
if it had been a poor old man, I could have made up his just as easy,
There is nothing more profound, more mysterious, more fertile, more gloomy
or more dazzing, than a window lighted by a candle."
And I go to bed, proud of having lived and suffered in others.
Perhaps you will say to me: 'Are you sure that it is the real story? What does it matter
what does any reality outside of myself matter if it has helped me to live, to feel that
am, and what I am?