forum.banglalibrary.org/viewtopic.php?id=2275 IN THE SUN LIFE, which is so brief and yet so long, becomes unbearable sometimes. It unfolds itself, always the same, with death at the end. We can neither stop it, nor change it, nor can we even understand it. Often, indeed, a rebellious feeling comes over us, as we realize the uselessness of such an effort. Whatever we do, we must die ! whatever we believe, whatever we think, whatever we attempt, in the end we die ! And it seems as if we must die to-morrow, without yet knowing anything, though we are heartsick with what we do know. When we realize this, we feel crushed with the everlasting misery of things, with human weakness, and the monotony of one’s actions. We rise, we walk, we lean out of the window. Opposite us, neighbors are breakfasting, as they breakfasted yesterday, as they will breakfast to-morrow. There is a father, a mother, and four children. About three years ago the grandmother was with them — she is not there now. The father has changed very much since we became neighbors. He does not notice it, but seems content, even happy — the idiot ! They speak of a wedding, then of a death, then of the tender chicken they are eating, of the maid, who is dishonest. They trouble themselves about a hundred things, utterly useless and silly, — fools !
Posted on: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 05:15:47 +0000
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