I felt ill at ease with all this air about me, lost before the confusion of innumerable prospects.
I have always been amazed at my contemporaries lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.
Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you dont there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little.
Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away, Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the life of life is gone.
But he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity), when he felt the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity).
But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.
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.
We are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or an egg collection, without feeling very much the worse for it, is it not.
God is a witness that cannot be sworn.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
I think the next little bit of excitement is ﬂying. I hope I am not too old to take it up seriously, nor too stupid about machines to qualify as a commercial pilot. I do not feel like spending the rest of my life writing books that no one will read. It is not as though I wanted to write them.
I grow gnomic. It is the last phase.