Next to my pain, all other pains seem unreal or insignificant. They’re the pains of people who are happy or who live life and complain. My pains are of a man who finds himself incarcerated, cut off from life… Between me and life… And so I see all the things which cause anguish and feel none of the things which bring joy. And I’ve noticed that suffering is seen more than felt, whereas happiness is felt more than seen. Because if one doesn’t see or think, he will know a certain contentment, like that of the mystics and the bohemians and the riffraff. It’s by the door of thought and the window of
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