Wonder at the sight of a cornflower, at a rock, at the touch of a rough hand—all the millions of emotions of which I am made—they won’t disappear even though I shall. Other men will experience them, and they’ll still be there because of them. More and more I believe I exist in order to be the terrain and proof which show other men that life consists in the uninterrupted emotions flowing through all creation. The happiness my hand knows in a boy’s hair will be known by another hand, is already known. And although I shall die, that happiness will live on. “I” may die, but what made that “I” possible, what made possible the joy of being, will make the joy of being live on without me.