Very Early In My Life It Was

When You Wept It Was Just Over Yourself And Not Because Of The Marvelous Impossibility Of Reaching Her Through The Difference That Separates You.

In A Certain State Of Mind, All Trace Of Feeling Is Banished. Whenever I Remain Silent In A Certain Way, I Don't Love You, Have You Noticed That?

One Must Talk. That's How It Is. One Must.

Finding Yourself In A Hole, At The Bottom Of A Hole, In Almost Total Solitude, And Discovering That Only Writing Can Save You. To Be Without The Slightest Subject For A Book, The Slightest Idea For A Book, Is To Find Yourself, Once Again, Before A Book. A Vast Emptiness. A Possible Book. Before Nothing. Before Something Like Living, Naked Writing, Like Something Terrible, Terrible To Overcome.

Get Rid Of Things Or You'll Spend Your Whole Life Tidying Up.