Some day when I lose you, will you still be able to sleep, without me to whisper over you like a crown of linden branches?

I am learning to see. I don't know why it is, but everything enters me more deeply and doesn't stop where it once used to. I have an interior that I never knew of... What's the use of telling someone that I am changing? If I'm changing, I am no longer who I was; and if I am something else, it's obvious that I have no acquaintances. And I can't possibly write to strangers.

Perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.

And we, spectators always, everywhere, looking at, never out of, everything! It fills us. We arrange it. It collapses. We re-arrange it, and collapse ourselves. Who's turned us round like this, so that we always, do what we may, retain the attitude of someone who's departing? Just as he, on the last hill, that shows him all his valley for the last time, will turn and stop and linger, we live our lives, for ever taking leave.

We make our way through Everything like thread passing through fabric, giving shape to images that we ourselves do not know.

Draw near to Nature. Then try like some first human being to say what you see and experience and love and lose.

It is good to say it aloud: 'Nothing has happened.' Once again: 'Nothing has happened.' Does that help?"