Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.
For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.
Yes, I dont know why, but I have never been disappointed, and I often was in the early days, without feeling at the same time, or a moment later, an undeniable relief.
To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.
Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It's abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we'll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.
That passed the time. It would have passed in any case. Yes, but not so rapidly.
We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
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