Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It's abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we'll go deaf, one day we...
Does it really matter which hand is employed to absterge the podex?
… where gradually as you peered trying to make it out gradually of all things a face appeared…
[Y]ou cannot mention everything in its proper place, you must choose, between the things not worth mentioning and those and those even less so.
The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
So to every man, soon or late, comes envy of the fly, with all the long joys of summer before it.
I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again. (It will be I?) Or dream (dream again), dream of a silence, a dream silence...
Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
You can't have everything, I've often noticed it.
The little cloud drifting before their glorious sun will darken the earth as long as I please.
On a le temps de viellir. L'air est plein de nos cris. Mais l'habitude est une grande sourdine.
I was out of sorts. They are deep, my sorts, a deep ditch, and I am not often out of them.
For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on. So t...
Bloom of adulthood. Try a whiff of that. On your back in the dark you remember. Ah you remember. Cloudless May day. She joins you in the little summerhouse. Entirely of logs. Both larch and fir. Six f...
Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away,
Of all the laughs that strictly speaking are not laughs, but modes of ululation, only three I think need detain us, I mean the bitter, the hollow and the mirthless. They correspond to successive… how...
Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.
In order to be company he must display a certain mental activity. But it need not be of a high order. Indeed it might be argued the lower the better. Up to a point. The lower the order of mental activ...
I must be happy, he said, it is less pleasant than I should have thought.
I am still alive then. That may come in useful.