While reading a new book- a biography- life of Michelangelo or Kemal Pasha; invariably I will ask on some grand pages, “Did he know?”
“Did he know what?”
“Did he know how it would end, how would he himself die?”
“No one could possibly know that. Don’t be silly!” I will chide myself.
But as soon as the conversation will be over- me eager being silenced by me reasonable- there will be a self-assurance of a fortune teller and an anxiety of a friend, in me, while looking at the prospect of a great man.