So all things limp together for the only possible.
What was God doing with himself before the creation?
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
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.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
My characters have nothing. I'm working with impotence, ignorance... that whole zone of being that has always been set aside by artists as something unusable - something by definition incompatible with art.
As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.
There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
Two in distressmake sorrow less.
But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!
With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.
But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.
Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.
Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
...you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it's done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on
It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it.
In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that… Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.
What is that unforgettable line?
The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.
What do we do now, now that we are happy?
What are we doing here, that is the question.
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