Judge monologue (Act 5) — Plays by August Strindberg, Third Series

You are right. There is not one memory that can bring light into this darkness. When I look at her who was the first love of my youth, I see nothing but a corpse. When I think of my sweet Amelia, there appears--a harlot. The little ones make faces at me like gutter-snipes. My court has become a pigsty; the vineyard, a rubbish-heap full of thistles; and the mausoleum--Oh, horrors!--an outhouse! When I think of the green woods, the leafage appears snuff-coloured and the trunks look bleached as mast tops. The blue river seems to flow out of a dung-heap and the blue arch above it looks like a smoky roof--Of the sun itself I can recall nothing but the name; and what was called the moon--the lamp that shed its light on bays and groves during the amorous nights of my youth--I can remember only as--no, I cannot remember it at all. But the words are left, although they have only sound without sense.--Love, wine, song! Flowers, children, happiness!--Don't the words sound pretty? And it is all that is left!--Love? What _was_ it, anyhow?