Monologue

Stranger Monologue from To Damascus

From To Damascus by August Strindberg

male · contemplative · 48 sec

My day's over and exists no longer; just as Sylvia exists no longer, but is merely a name, a memory. Look at this guide-book! Can you see small marks made here by tiny fingers, and others by little damp lips? You made them when you were five years old; you were sitting on my knee in the train, and we saw the Alps for the first time. You thought what you saw was Heaven; and when I explained that the mountain was the Jungfrau, you asked if you could kiss the name in the book.

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