A strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret murmur of the earth itself. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.
Bonjour!
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