The Goodness Of A Madman


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WRITTEN IN A SANATORIUM IN SWITZERLAND. I asked him to write something. Whatever he wanted. I listened to him so many times that I thought it would help him somehow. He would focus on the writing and not on his thoughts as he walked through the grove in the sanatorium. I thought no more of it, until one day he gave me a stack of papers. I leaned on the desk and read through the night. They brought me the discomfort of feeling that I did not know their author despite having spoken with him so frequently. What a beautiful discovery: knowing of someone. When he left us, I asked him to give me those pages. He smiled and said, At least someone has read what I have written. I am glad of that. I may be mad, but I am also good. I looked at him, thanking him for doing what I had asked. On his record, I went on to add, the goodness of a madman . All of that came out of those pages. They are still there, set down upon the desk. I read them from time to time: I THINK ABOUT AND MEDITATE ON WHAT IS WRITTEN THERE. A. BUISSON

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