In the middle of
my forehead there was the figure of a lyre on the diadem, which had
borrowed something of the sun's own living light; it poured with
such bright refulgence upon the wreath of stars that I seemed to be
gazing straight through the world. As long as the lyre stood still,
everything was well with me--but all of a sudden it began to move
in a circle. Faster and ever faster it moved, until every nerve in
my body was shaken. At last it began to rotate in rings with such
speed that it was transformed into a sun. Then my whole being was
broken, and it moved and trembled; for you must know that the
diadem was no longer put on the outside of my head, but inside, on
my very brain. And now it began to whirl around with an
inconceivable violence, until it suddenly broke and burst into
pieces. Darkness--darkness--darkness and night spread over the
whole world wherever I turned. I was bewildered and faint, and I
who had always hated weakness in men--I wept; I shed hot, burning
tears.
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