Thought is Dread

We think with our tears, with our sadnesses, W. says. We think from our humiliations, our desperations ...

Thought is the hangman, our hangman, W. says. Thought has its nooses ready, just for us.

Really, thought is a kind of assault, W. says.

To think is to stray. To think is to err greatly: who was it who said that?, W. wonders. Well, there's erring and erring. There's straying and straying.

In the end, thought is dread, W. says. It is indistinguishable from dread.