“The night is still, the streets are quiet.
In this house lived my Love.
She left the town long before,
Yet her house still stands in the same place.
There I also see a man standing,
Staring into the heavens,
Wringing his hands in violent grief.
I shudder as I behold his face
The moon reveals to me my own likeness.
You Doppelganger, you pale companion.
Why do you mimic my lovesickness,
That tormented me at this place,
For so many nights in the past?”
Franz Schubert’s “Der Doppelgänger” (1828)
“I suppose I had always hoped that, through an act of will and the effort of practice, I might be someone else, might alter my personality and even my appearance, that I might in fact create myself, but instead I found myself trapped in the very character which made such a thought possible and such a wish mine.”
— Lyn Hejinian, My Life