Or perhaps my father once. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. The teacher turned towards the blackboard to inscribe the names of Capulet and Montague.
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