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Updated: May 9, 2025
I am now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight. BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, would not you wish to know old age? He who is never an old man, does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it. JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, what talk is this? BOSWELL. 'I mean, Sir, the Sphinx's description of it; morning, noon, and night.
She used to lie on my knees, and remain there, turning all sorts of things over in her little sphinx's head, or perhaps not thinking of anything, retaining that beautiful, charming, hereditary pose of that noble and dreamy people, the hieratic pose of the sacred statues. In a large brass dish I had brought provisions, cakes, fruits.
'On such a night' our talk fell upon whitebait. As the Sphinx's silver fork rustled among the withered silver upon her plate, she turned to me and said: 'Have you ever thought what beautiful little things these whitebait are? 'Oh, yes, I replied, 'they are the daisies of the deep sea, the threepenny-pieces of the ocean.
His face alone has been mutilated; and he preserves still his imperious chin, his ears, his Sphinx's headgear, one might almost say his meditative expression, before this deployment of the vast solitude which seems to begin at his very feet. Here however was only the boundary of the quarters of the God Amen.
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