Oh, your tears trembling in your eyes like cold lights!..
Oh, your tears glittering in your eyes like treacherous flashes of lightning!..
Oh, your tears leaping from your eyes as precious pearls leap from a sea whose bottom no one knows!..
Do you believe that with such tears you can astound me and dazzle me, bewitch me and bend me and fold me and deceive me?
Do you believe I can no longer tell tears of truth from tears of falsehood, tears of the heart from tears of the body, the tears of men from the tears of crocodiles?!
No, my friend. Mercy is of silver and forgiveness is of gold!.. For your sake I have spent the silver of my mercy; but the gold of my forgiveness I shall not squander, nor scatter it after this day upon the dust...
So return to your waywardness and be shattered. Go on in your madness and die. But do not dream of the impossible: what is past will not return!
You can become!
Do you suppose that tomorrow I shall be your consoler and your nurse, your shepherd and your servant, your dog and your keeper?!
No, my friend. Patience is of silver and dignity is of gold!.. For your sake I have spent the silver of my patience; but the gold of my dignity I shall not squander, nor scatter it after this day upon the dust!
So return to your waywardness and sink beneath it. Go on in your madness and suffer. But do not dream of the impossible. What is past will not return!
But what is this pallor that floods your face, what is this trembling that runs through your body, what is this strange, bitter quiver that storms upon your lips?
You are weeping?!..
Was it to be expected that I should one day see you weep?!
Was it to be expected that I should one day see you kneel like a sinner, plead like a child, and suffer like a human being?
... I was yours with all the trust in my soul, all the hope in my heart, all the faith in my breast.
But you — O man fickle as the clouds, changing color like the chameleon, quick to shift as the weather — you deceived me and cast me off and turned away from me to another, with no restraint of mercy or pity or pang of conscience!
Why, then, do you come back today and think of me?..
Why do you dream anew of the enchantment of my glance, the intoxication of my kisses, the warmth of my embrace, the heat of my heart and my blood?!..
Do you believe that one created dumb can speak, that one created deaf can hear, that one stricken with an incurable disease can be healed, that one who has died can suddenly stir and return, in the twinkling of an eye, to life and light?!
No, my friend. Time is of silver and experience is of gold!.. For your sake I have spent the silver of my time; but the gold of my experience I shall not squander, nor scatter it after this day upon the dust!
So return to your waywardness and burn. Go on in your madness and yearn. But do not dream of the impossible: what is past will not return!
Pleasures have eaten you up, loose women have devoured you, and the beasts of your instincts have gnawed away every scrap of flesh and bone in you!
Your living heart has been wrung dry, your fiery blood has grown cold, your strong nerve has melted, your fresh sap has been sucked out and turned to clay and water!..
What, then, would you offer me today, you crippled remnant of a man?..
You crawl and do not walk, you sit and do not rise, you stammer and do not speak, you moan and do not
— Woe to my heart from her fingertips. She is forever trying to play upon its strings the legend of my love and my disappointment. (Byron)
— A woman's fingertips are dyed with blood; so ask them how many hearts they have pressed into her cup until she grew drunk. (Schumann)
— Let me kiss your fingertips and press them until I feel your pulse. (Balzac)
