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Tears.

"How beautiful that you paint, Kasper, and paint so beautifully. I'd like to be a little bit of nature and be loved by you the way you love every bit of nature. A painter must love nature so ardently and achingly, even more tempestuously and tremblingly and openly than a poet..."

“Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.”

Oh Ali,
you're so fine,
you're so fine,
you blow my mind,
hey Ali,
hey Ali.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it had found its end in you,
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life,
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours-
And the song of every poet past and forever.

... Cicero ascribed to Cato, who used to say that "never is a man more active than when he does nothing, never is he less alone than when he is by himself". Assuming Cato was right , the questions are obvious: What are we "doing" when we do nothing but think? Where are we when we, normally always surrounded by our fellow-men, are together with no one but ourselves?

Hannah Arendt, I love you.

"It was only the prospect of the drum that prevented me then from expressing more forcefully my desire to return to the womb. Besides, the midwife had already cut my umbilical cord. There was nothing more to be done."

Carefully weighing and comparing these promises, maternal and paternal, I observed and listened to a moth that had flown into the room. Medium-sized and hairy, it darted between the two sixty-watt bulbs, casting shadows out of all proportion to its wing spread, which filled the room and everything in it with quivering motion. What impressed me most, however, was not the play of light and shade but the sound...(cont.)

Even though I have just started reading this one, I am infatuated! I think I am a little in love with Mr. Grass, and I cannot stop blushing.