"
Yourii read on, thinking that these written meditations of his were
amazingly profound.
"It's all so true!" he said to himself, and in his melancholy there was
a touch of pride.
He went to the window and looked out into the garden where the paths
were strewn with yellow leaves. The sickly hue of death confronted him
at every point--dying leaves and dying insects whose lives depend on
warmth and light.
Yourii could not comprehend this calm. The pageant of dying summer
filled his soul with wrath unutterable.
"Autumn already; and then winter, and the snow. Then spring, and
summer, and autumn again! The eternal monotony of it all! And what
shall I be doing all the while? Exactly what I'm doing now. At best, I
shall become dull-witted, caring for nothing. Then old age, and death."
The same thoughts that had so often harassed him now rushed through his
brain. Life, so he said, had passed by him; after all, there was no
such thing as an exceptional existence; even a hero's life is full of
tedium, grievous at the outset, and joyless at the close.
"An achievement! A victory of some sort!" Yourii wrung his hands in
despair.
Pages:
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476