To Walk Into History Is To Be

Proust Has Pointed Out That The Predisposition To Love Creates Its Own Objects; Is This Not Also True Of Fear?

Reason Can Never Reconcile One To Life: Nothing Allays The Wants One Cannot Explain.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

Wariness Had Driven Away Poetry; From Hesitating To Feel Came The Moment When You No Longer Could.

Silences Can Be As Different As Sounds.