There's a non-existent peace in the uncertain quietness

To be great, be whole; Exclude nothing. Be whole in everything.

If I write what I feel, it's to reduce the fever of feeling. What I confess is unimportant, because everything is unimportant.

I think of life as an inn where I have to stay until the abyss coach arrives. I don't know where it will take me, for I know nothing.

But I am not perfect in my way of putting things Because I lack the divine simplicity Of being only what I appear to be.

I come closer to my desk as to a bulwark against life.

Nostalgia! I feel it even for someone who meant nothing to me, out of anxiety for the flight of time and a sickness bred of the mystery of life. If one of the faces I pass daily on the streets disappears, I feel sad; yet they meant nothing to me, other than being a symbol of all life.