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by: August Strindberg

No matter how far we travel, the memories will follow in the baggage car.

Oh, I'd love to see the whole of your sex swimming in a sea of blood just like that. I think I could drink out of your skull You think I loved you because my womb hungered for your seed—Bear your child and take your name!—Come to think of it, what is your name anyway? I've never heard your last name. You probably don't even have one. I'd be Mrs. Doorkeeper or Madame Floorsweeper. You dog with my name on your collar—you lackey with my initials on your buttons!

Necessity knows no rules.

Maybe at bottom there isn't such a great difference between people as we think.

That's the life, you know. Always new faces, new languages. No time to worry or be nervous. No hunting for something to do--there's always work to be done: bells ringing night and day, train whistles blowing, carriages coming and going, and all the while gold rolling into the till! That's the life!

I caught sight of a pink dress and a pair of white stockings. That was you. I crawled under a pile of weeds, under—well, you can imagine what it was like—under thistles that pricked me and wet dirt that stank to high heaven. And all the while I could see you walking among the roses.

I can't deny ... that I'm pleased to find out that what looked so dazzling from below was only tinsel, that the hawk's back was only gray, after all, that the lovely complexion was only powder, that those polished fingernails had black edges, and that a dirty handkerchief is still dirty, even if it smells of perfume!

I'm already asleep. The whole room is like smoke around me ... and you look like an iron stove ... shaped like a man in black, with a tall hat--and your eyes glow like coals when the fire is dying--and your face is a white patch, like ashes.

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