Cold Hands
"It's cold, Philosophe."
"As if I didn't know. My hands are cold! My poor little books and my poor little manuscripts. I carry them, now, for they have no pockets to keep them warm."
"Your hands, or your philosophies?"
"Both, both. Besides that, Schaunard, I look like a fool out in the snow with no coat. I need a scarf. It's winter, my friend."
"Clearly. Say something magnanimous. Say something good and philosophic, about spring coming."
"It isn't. Poor Rodolphe."
"Poor Colline. Allow me to kiss your hands warm."
"You should have been the philosopher."
"Oh, really. One needn't be a philosopher to know the comforts of life."
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