...he Was Just Scraps Of Words And

I Had To Spend My Entire Childhood In The Altensam Dungeon Like An Inmate Doing Time For No Comprehensible Reason, For A Crime He Can't Remember Committing, A Judicial Error Probably.

Everyone, He Went On, Speaks A Language He Does Not Understand, But Which Now And Then Is Understood By Others. That Is Enough To Permit One To Exist And At Least To Be Misunderstood.

We Only Really Face Up To Ourselves When We Are Afraid.

What Can You Do. You Get A Name, You're Called 'thomas Bernhard', And It Stays That Way For The Rest Of Your Life. And If At Some Point You Go For A Walk In The Woods, And Someone Takes A Photo Of You, Then For The Next Eighty Years You're Always Walking In The Woods. There's Nothing You Can Do About It.

Only When I Am By Seawater Can I Truly Breathe, To Say Nothing Of My Ability To Think.