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THE MAKROPOULOS SECRET

Perhaps we ought to go?

No, it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same, whether you’re here or not. And you make such a fuss over each little death. You are queer

What is the matter with you?

[Crying out]

One ought not, ought not, ought not to live so long!

Why?

One can’t go through with it. One lives for a hundred, or a hundred and thirty years, and then—then one realizes—then one finds out—then one’s soul dies.

One realizes what?

God! There is no word for it. Then one doesn’t believe in anything. Not in anything! And from it comes that ennui. Berti, you used to say that I sang as if I were frozen. You see, art has meaning only so long as one doesn’t