Should I call this book a novel? It is something less, perhaps, and yet much more, the very essence of my life, gathered with nothing added to it, in those hours of heartbreak from which it emerged. And this is not an excuse for my weakness. I could have protected it from the storms, worked the earth, exposed it to the sunlight and, if I may say so, better situated my life. As soon as the sight of nature, sorrow, those rays of light that from one moment to the next, without our having kindled them, shine upon us, released me for a moment from the looking-glass of worldly life, the...
Created 08.12.15