Wednesday, July 14, 2010

DQW: 4

"Ah, did not the climate change at all, did it not grow milder round about Ulsgaard with all our warmth? Do not certain roses bloom longer in the park now, even into December?

I shall tell nothing about you, Abelone. Not because we deluded one another: since you loved someone, even then, whom you have never forgotten, you lover, and I loved all women; but because only wrong is done in the telling."

—Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, translated by M. D. Herter Norton

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