The Secret Miracle of Death

The thought of death, living in the midst of this jumble of little lanes, needs and voices, gives me a melancholy happiness. It is always like the last moment before the departure of an emmigrant ship. People have more to say to each other than ever. And yet silence will soon descend on all these noisy, living, life, thirsty people. How his shadow stands even now behind everyone as his dark fellow travel. The hour is late, and the ocean and its desolate silence are waiting impatiently behind all this noise so covetous and certain of their prey. I think we all know deep down that it doesn't really matter what level of intellectual progress we've made in