Weak Thoughts, Weak Desires: He Felt Their

Lovers Of Painting And Lovers Of Music Are People Who Openly Display Their Preference Like A Delectable Ailment That Isolates Them And Makes Them Proud.

I Wanted To See Something In Full Daylight; I Was Sated With The Pleasure And Comfort Of The Half Light; I Had The Same Desire For The Daylight As For Water And Air. And If Seeing Was Fire, I Required The Plenitude Of Fire, And If Seeing Would Infect Me With Madness, I Madly Wanted That Madness.

My Being Subsists Only From A Supreme Point Of View Which Is Precisely Incompatible With My Point Of View. The Perspective In Which I Fade Away For My Eyes Restores Me As A Complete Image For The Unreal Eye To Which I Deny All Images. A Complete Image With Reference To A World Devoid Of Image Which Imagines Me In The Absence Of Any Imaginable Figure. The Being Of A Nonbeing Of Which I Am The Infinitely Small Negation Which It Instigates As Its Profound Harmony. In The Night Shall I Become The Universe?

The Disaster Ruins Everything, All The While Leaving Everything Intact.

A Writer Never Reads His Work. For Him, It Is The Unreadable, A Secret, And He Cannot Remain Face To Face With It. A Secret, Because He Is Separated From It.