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I reflected that without language, or before language, the mind cannot comfort itself. And yet it is the language of our thoughts that tortures us more than any excess or deprivation of nature.
Yet I wish I had a cat.
an hotel
why
death. We are haunted by ourselves, he says, and that is enough for any man.
The gentlemen laugh at me indulgently. They respect me, up to a point, but we have arrived at that point.
of course if two gentlemen agree that must be enough to settle the matter for any woman.
Yet I wish I had a cat.
But the body is not the truth of what we are. The spirit will not return to a ruined house.
How can I die? It is impossible. Yet I shall die.
Outside the window a cat walks along the parapet.
And as the rain runs down the window I believe him. As the rain runs down the window, I hope that, drop by drop, we will make a life together.
Only, remember, that time can’t unhappen. What you know you will know.
