human
It seems that the years have not changed you for the better, charming Thea,
gpt
My wings are broken and I am withered like yourself.
human
So that is the meaning of this honoured apparition! A mirror of myself--spirit of ruin--symbolic poem on the course of my ideas. Pshaw! I know that trick. Every brainless Christmas poet knows it, too. You must come with a more powerful charm, O Thea, spirit of the herb tea! Good-bye. My time is too precious to be wasted by allegories.
gpt
What have you to do that is so important?
human
If I have nothing more to do, I must die,
gpt
And that seems important to you?
human
Moderately so.
gpt
Important to whom?
human
To myself, I should think, if to no one else.
gpt
And your creditor--the world?
human
The world, oh, yes, the world. And what, pray, do I owe it?
gpt
Love.
human
Love? To that harlot? Because it sucked the fire from my veins and poured poison therein instead? Behold me here--wrecked, broken, a plaything of any wave. That is what the world has made of me!
gpt
That is what you have made of yourself! ... The world came to you as a smiling guide.... With gentle finger it touched your shoulder and desired you to follow. But you were stubborn. You went your own way in dark and lonely caverns where the laughing music of the fight that sounds from above becomes a discordant thunder. You were meant to be wise and merry; you became dull and morose.
human
Very well; if that is what I became, at least the grave will release me from my condition.
gpt
Test yourself thoroughly.
human
What is the use of that now? Life has crippled me.... What of joy it has to offer becomes torture to me.... I am cut loose from all the kindly bonds that bind man to man.... I cannot bear hatred, neither can I bear love.... I tremble at a thousand dangers that have never threatened and will never threaten me. A very straw has become a cliff to me against which I founder and against which my weary limbs are dashed in pieces.... And this is the worst of all. My vision sees clearly that it is but a straw before which my strength writhes in the dust.... You have come at the right time, Thea. Perhaps you carry in the folds of your robe some little potion that will help me to hurry across the verge.