as for me, i have not been the unfortunate messenger of a thought stronger than i, nor its plaything, nor its victim, because that thought, if it has conquered me, has only conquered through me, and in the end has always been equal to me.
i have loved it and i have loved only it, and everything that happened i wanted to happen, and having had regard only for it, wherever it was or wherever i might have been, in absence, in sorrow, in the inevitability of dead things, in the necessity of living things, in the fatigue of work in the faces born of curiosity, in my false words, in my deceitful vows, in silence and in the night, i gave it all my strength and it gave me all its strength, so that this strength is too great, it is incapable of being ruined by anything, and condemns us, perhaps, to immeasurable unhappiness, but if that is so, i take this unhappiness on my self and i am immeasurably glad of it and to that thought i say eternally, "Come," and eternally it is there: "..."
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