noon
I feel this most keenly , when reading Nietzsche , that volcanic stammerer of the thing to come . I feel , `` inside , '' as children say , that my parabola will be finished before I can win to the burning heart of the man . It frightens me -LRB- a sign of coming fatigue -RRB- to launch out on one of his torrents of thought -- veritable rushing rivers of vitriol , burning up all that is decaying and fleshly , casting away the refined , exhausted , yet exultant spirit on some lonely point of the future , where he can see the illimitable ocean of race-possibilities . '' _ Oh , noon of life ! Delightful garden land ! Fair summer Station ! _ '' So , writing -LRB- steadying myself against the Atlantic roll -RRB- one fresh thought in the blank left for it in the long ago , I close the book , and take up my present life once more .