Ernest.
One hardly decides upon a thing, when, see, that vanishing power begins to darken.
Hans.
Hence the flaming firmament——and the evening bells——I promise myself little more for the future.
Ernest.
Sometimes I see myself already as a worthy pastor—with a good-natured little wife, a well-filled library and offices and dignities all about me. For six days one has to think, and on the seventh one opens one's mouth. When out walking, one gives one's hand to the school-girls and boys, and when one comes home the coffee steams, the cookies are brought out and the maids fetch apples through the garden door.——Can you imagine anything more beautiful?
Hans.
I imagine half-closed eyelids, half-open lips and Turkish draperies.——I do not believe in pathos. Our elders show us long faces in order to hide their stupidity. Among themselves they call each other donkeys just as we do. I know that.——When I am a millionaire I'll erect a monument to God.——Imagine the future as a milkshake with sugar and cinnamon. One fellow upsets it and howls, another stirs it all together and sweats. Why not skim off the cream?——Or don't you believe that one can learn how?
Ernest.