To believe that the future does not exist, because we do not know it, is like believing that a book is not finished because we have not finished reading it." The doctor paused for a moment.

And Nanteuil, in the silence which followed, heard the sound of her heart beating.

She exclaimed: "Continue, my dear Socrates, continue, I beg you.

If you only knew how much good you do me by talking! You think that I am not listening to a word you say.

But it distracts me to hear you talking of far-away things; it makes me feel that there is something else besides my entrance; it prevents me from giving way to the blues.