“I would awake towards morning (already prepared for the requital) with the anguish of an unhabituated drunkard emerging from inebriation, but tenfold and irremediable. A fierce cold penetrated my body, no matter how warmly I enswathed myself. The pain would return, fortified by bitter comparison-just moments ago I had dropped off so serenely. The day ahead seemed enormous, that vespertine joy almost unattainable, and yet those long diurnal hours were spent in sheer enervate anticipation of the evening. So as to deceive time, to foreshorten it, again and again I would take to counting up to a thousand, call to mind verses from memory, but found it impossible to attain peace.”
Yury Felsen, “A Miracle”, 1934.
A Bird's Eye View of Fashion, Food, Travel, Culture, Beverage and Curiosity 