It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not, and this question of removal is one which I discuss incessantly with my soul.
'Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live in another country...?
It must be warm there or maybe much colder, and there you would invigorate yourself like a star falling, or just be another stranger in unknown train station. This city is on the sea-shore; or full of deserted land o..
My soul does not reply.
'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement, would you like to move into Holland,
that beatifying country ? Perhaps you would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often admired in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests and ships moored at the foot of houses ?
My soul remains silent.... Not a word. Could my soul be dead ?
'Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you acquiesce in your sickness .. it seems to me as another hopeless case ?
At last my soul finally explodes, and wisely cries out to me:
No matter where !
No matter where ! As long as it's out of this world..!
