With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. I have been sitting with him ever since. He did not come out of his chloroform coma and sailed weakly to his death. For the young, immortality must seem promising, even wonderful! The grass is always greener on the other side. The very blank, however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left.
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