It sometimes happens and will sometimes happen again that I forget who I am and strut before my eyes, like a stranger.
All the things you would do gladly, oh without enthusiasm, but gladly, all the things there seems no reason for your not doing, and that you do not do! Can it be we are not free? It might be worth looking into.
My life, my life, now I speak of it as of something over, now as of a joke which still goes on, and it is neither, for at the same time it is over and it goes on, and is there any tense for that? Watch wound and buried by the watchmaker, before he died, whose ruined works will one day speak of God, to the worms.
The fact is, it seems, that the most you can hope is to be a little less, in the end, the creature you were in the beginning, and the middle.
And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept.
To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.
To restore silence is the role of objects.
But is it true love, in the rectum? Thats what bothers me sometimes.
Don't wait to be hunted to hide, that's always been my motto.
The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.
To contrive a little kingdom, in the midst of the universal muck, then shit on it, ah that was me all over.
I knew it would soon be the end, so I played the part, you know, the part of how shall I say, I dont know.
The short winters day was drawing to a close. It seems to me sometimes that these are the only days I have ever known, and especially that most charming moment of all, just before night wipes them out.
Poor juvenile solutions, explaining nothing. No need then for caution, we may reason on to our hearts content, the fog wont lift.
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.
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