If nothing were substituted for everything, it would still be too much and too little.

Express only that which cannot be expressed. Leave it unexpressed)

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.

If nothing were substituted for everything, it would still be too much and too little.

Every artist is linked to a mistake with which he has a particular intimate relation. There is the mistake of Homer, of Shakespeare — which is perhaps, for both, the fact of not existing. Every art draws its origin from an exceptional fault, every work is the implementation of this original fault, from which come to us a new light and a risky conception of plenitude.

But my silence is real. If I hid it from you, you would find it again a little farther on.

Weak thoughts, weak desires: he felt their force.