To live is to be other. Even feeling is impossible if one feels today what one felt yesterday, for that is not to feel, it is only to remember today what one felt yesterday, to be the living corpse of yesterday’s lost life. To wipe everything off the slate from one day to the next, to be new with each new dawn, in a state of perpetually restored virginity of emotion - that and only that is worth being or having, if we are to be or to have what we imperfectly are.
