ts of love. Love is the future magnetized by
the heart.

* * * * *

He is there. His profile is massive in outline. He towers over the
sunken country, the clods crunch beneath his feet. I walk close beside
him. I ask for nothing. Maybe my only wish is that my footsteps should
make less noise and my shoulders take up less room.

But I have another wish. I know what it is. Although I love him with my
whole heart, I want to love him more. One does not attain to love once
for all; the heart can never be filled to the full. How far shall we go?
I can go on and on without stopping and outdistance the sources of the
night; my youth is inexhaustible, my feet will never weary. I want to
love him _more_.

Space heaves a deeper breath. She is traversed by currents, scoops of
darkness, aromatic whiffs. The perfume sweetens the lips; flowers must
be dotting this hedge. And suddenly space goes mad. A black wind swirls
down from the tree-tops and fills the nocturnal expanse with the
creaking of branches.

* * * * *

Must we stop at the greatest moment, at the point where the road looks
supernatural, as though it possessed a density of its own and were
suspended in space?... I should have liked to walk further; one never
goes far enough. Must we really return to the stolid lamp and babbling
kisses?

* * * * *

Not immediately. Let us prolong this great sombre moment. Let us stay
here where even time might come to a standstill. The trees droop lower
here, and in these tranquil meadows the spirit may play hide-and-seek.

* * * * *

It is really unhappiness that makes you stop. I return from the night;
all I bring back is this strangled throat, a body like a tortoise-shell
covering a silent heart and blinded eyes.

If I emerge from myself, disconsolateness everywhere, spread all over
the world. The sleeping desert....

He is close beside me, but since he lives, he can do nothing for me. I
can do nothing for him. I used to think that in loving him I crowned
him. Love is not enough. This evening I saw his life rise from the
ground, distinct from love, _outside_ of mine; I saw his life, bared to
all the winds, isolated from everything, raise and satisfy itself. I see
that this is right.

His life is complete in itself, unique and important; his life is not
merely the image that inspires me, the voice th