"...as though a stranger had entered her pure, virginal world."
"...yet meanwhile their hearts were expanding, nothing was lost on them: for them the nightingale sang, the stares burned and the trees whispered softly, cradled in sleep by summer softness and summer warmth."
For them everything took place, as if the world was there for their own entertainment, their existence...
"...but no words can express what was happening in the pure soul of the girl; it was a secret for her; let it remain a secret for all and everyone. No one can know, no one has seen or will ever see how the seed summoned to life and fruition swells and ripens in the bosom of the earth."
"But what can one say about people who may still be living but have passed from walks of life, why return to them?...What did the two of them think, what did they feel? Who can know? Who can say? There are such moments in life, such feelings...one can best point to them- and pass by."
And they are meant to be passed by, admired from afar. Such is the nature of these "such feelings". They are not meant to be publicly unveiled and pinpointed, named and categorized. They are meant to be let free and remain a mystery.It makes me think about the mysteries of the human feelings, how complex they can possibly get. How sophisticated and yet so befuddling.
The people are just momentary ideas, and how then pass on to be something else. He says it so beautifully, we should let them be, let them live their lives in their sorrow as they fade off into time, where they'd rather be... along with their former emotions and feelings...
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Some people are not meant to share their happiness together, even though it would be justified, while others stay together and don't deserve it. Yet, they can live in those fleeting moments, and forever be united. The moments are immortal. Reminds me of White Nights by Dostoevsky; a sort of feeling- of blissful moments, and denouncing reality.
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