RICHARD I have wounded my soul for you - a deep wound of doubt which can never be healed. I can never know, never in this world. I do not wish to know or to believe. I do not care. It is not in the darkness of belief that I desire you. But in restless living wounding doubt. To hold you by no bonds, even of love, to be united with you in body and soul in utter nakedness - for this I longed. And now I am tired for a while, Bertha. My wound tires me.