Money dissolves while you’re sleeping, it flies away while you’re changing your shoes (coming apart, with wooden heels) to run to the market for the second time : you never stop moving, but you’re always late. Life becomes mathematics, addition, multiplication a mad whirl of figures and numbers, a vortex that snatches the last of your possessions into its black insatiable vacuum.
Stefan Zweig , The Post-Office Girl
Majicman Notes 
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