“It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.”

“I tell my piano the things I used to tell you”

“I tell you piano the things I used to tell you”

“You must not let fatigue set in," she warns. "That is what my mother said. Let your body work until it is spent, but keep your mind for yourself.""Good advice.""To tell the truth, I do not know this thing called 'mind', what it does or how to use it. It is only a word I have heard.""The mind is nothing you use," I say. "The mind is just there. It is like the wind. You simply feel its movements.”

“What was it? Why won't you tell me?""I don't want to break down your illusions.""My dear man, I have no illusions about you.""I mean illusions about yourself.”

“We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me that you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?”