Distressing to be an observer

Believe it or not: rule 34 (well, not quite) on the voices in Kierkegaard's head. :D Or, rather, Constantin Constantius/the young man from Repetition. I feel the sense of satisfaction right now that only contributing to the list of utterly WTF things you can find slashed on the internet can impart. :3

"Here we met early in the morning. In the hour when day struggles with night, when even in midsummer a cold shudder goes through nature, we met down there in the clammy morning fog and the dew-damp grass, and the birds flew up in fright at his cry. In the hour when day has conquered, when all that lives rejoices in life, in the hour when the beloved young girl, whom he pampered with his pain, raised her head from the pillow and opened her eyes because the god of sleep who had sat beside her bed rose up, in the hour when the god of dreams laid his finger on her eyelids so that she once again dozed off briefly while he told her what she had never suspected and breathed in so softly that when she awoke she had forgotten everything--in that hour we parted again. And whatever the god of dreams confided to her, she still did not dream of what passed between us. No wonder the man grew pale! Now wonder that I am the one who was his confidant and the confidant of several like him!" link

I am taking this out of context, but not as much as you think. >)