Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of white wind and occasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one- the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul. She was that unity sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room for winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself.  It became known to her, at length, that she was born again. Sighing, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here. Beauty: (Her lips scarcely stirring, her eyes turned, as always, inward upon herself) Whither shall I journey now? ——— from F.Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned

Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of white wind and occasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one- the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul. She was that unity sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room for winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself. 

It became known to her, at length, that she was born again. Sighing, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here.

Beauty: (Her lips scarcely stirring, her eyes turned, as always, inward upon herself) Whither shall I journey now?

———

from F.Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned

Thursday Aug 8 @ 07:57pm with Notes