The Consolation of Philosophy

"But the time," said she, "calls rather for healing than for lamentation." Then, with her eyes bent full upon me, "Are you that man," she cries, "who, erstwhile fed with the milk and reared upon the nourishment which is mine to give, had grown up to the full vigor of a manly spirit? And yet I had bestowed such armor on you as would have proved an invincible defense, had you not first cast it away. Do you know me? Why are you silent? Is it shame or amazement that has struck you dumb? Would it were shame; but, as I see, a stupor has seized upon you."

Then, when she saw me not only answering nothing, but mute and utterly incapable of speech, she gently touched my breast with her hand, and said: "There is no danger; these are the symptoms of lethargy, the usual sickness of deluded minds. For awhile he has forgotten himself; he will easily recover his memory, if only he first recognizes me. And that he may do so, let me now wipe his eyes that are clouded with a mist of mortal things." Thereat, with a fold of her robe, she dried my eyes, all swimming with tears.