With Such Tenderness—to the Point of Tears

“You and your face of night, you and your hair, unhurried lightning…”

When night fell, grace was given to me [...] Shining in the darkness.

The body suddenly seemed a tumor on the brain, a mere means of conveyance, a wagon; the mind’s go-cart now taken apart, laid in pieces on this table.

“(I am ashamed—but it is useless—I am what I am)”

“How can I accept a limited definable self when I feel, in me, all possibilities?”

“Sometimes I don’t know how to live in the world. Why is there always this scent of sorrow?”

Desires are already memories.

The greatest hazard of all, losing the self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly.

sadness comes back and comes back

And my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous, anaesthetized wound. I thought only, One day I’ll weep for this. One of these days I’ll start to cry.