It seems to me that it will be very wearisome to be a man.
And all around is the desert; a corner of the mournful kingdom of sand.
Painting and music were the only things I worked at industriously and faithfully.
My emotions lose their force when I endeavor to interpret them, and my words seem very inept.
I do not exactly remember at what period I started my museum which absorbed so much of my time.
Through the study of fossils I had already been initiated into the mysteries of prehistoric creations.
My sister and my brother, of whom I have not spoken before, were considerably older than I; it seemed almost as if we belonged to different generations.
The pyramid once passed there was still a short way to go before we confronted the Sphinx, in the middle of what our contemporaries have left him of his desert.
My books were always full of ink blots, always stained and covered with smeared sketches and pictures, which one draws idly when his attention wanders from his task.
The moon of a bright silver, which dazzles by its shining, illumines a world which surely is no longer ours; for it resembles in nothing what may be seen in other lands.