If there were a God, and if he had time to cast a glance into the married lives of couples in Budapest, his cheeks would flush red with shame, assuming he had cheeks, assuming he were not merely a waft of air like most spirits. Course he’d immediately deny all responsibility, since marriage was not part of his original design. Man had invented it, cause man had thought it would be a good idea.
Will I visit your grave? Is there anything there? If there is, it must be, I believe, something utterly different from what is engraved upon the headstone: may the deceased be tied to the bonds of eternal life. Rather this: totus homo fit excrementum. As all else in self-loathing, you hurried this up, making it happen while you were still alive.
I should at first point out that in the two or three years previous, the blows of fate (drought, earthquake, floods) had followed each other in rapid succession. At that time, my father was still an active dancer at the Opera, although it was growing ever harder for him to lift his partners.