Faith, Like A Guillotine. As Heavy, As

The Old Incapacity. Interrupted My Writing For Barely Ten Days And Already Cast Out. Once Again Prodigious Efforts Stand Before Me. You Have To Dive Down, As It Were, And Sink More Rapidly Than That Which Sinks In Advance Of You.

Sometimes I Think I Can Expiate All My Past And Future Sins Through The Aching Of My Bones.

A Book Must Be The Ax For The Frozen Sea Within Us.

I Can Once More Carry On A Conversation With Myself, And Don't Stare So Into Complete Emptiness. Only In This Way Is There Any Possibility Of Improvement For Me.

Love Is, That You Are The Knife Which I Plunge Into Myself.