#p.136

Wat echter te beginnen met gebeurtenissen die geen eigen plaats in de tijd hebben gekregen, gebeurtenissen die te laat kwamen, pas toen de hele tijd al was vergeven, verdeeld en opgemaakt, en di ene als het ware zijn gestrand, die ongeclassificeerd, dakloos en verdwaald in de lucht hangen? Zou de tijd soms te krap zijn voor alle gebeurtenissen? Kan het voorkomen dat alle plaatsen in de tijd al uitverkocht zijn? Bezorgd rennen we langs de lange trein van de gebeurtenissen, ons klaarmakend voor het vertrek.

, however, I didn't mean that private relations bore me: which is indeed an intolerable perversion of my real meaning, who find relations of all kinds more and more engrossing, and (in spite of being made a fool of so often by one's impulse to surrender everything - dignity and propriety - to intimacy) final, in some way; enduring; gigantic, and beautiful. Indeed, I find all this in my relations with people, and what I can guess of theirs. What I meant was that sexual relations bore me more than they used: am I a prude? Am I feminine? Anyhow for two years past, I have been a spectator of I daresay a dozen affairs of the heart - violent and crucial; and come to the conclusion that love is a disease; a frenzy; an epidemic; oh but how dull, how monotonous, and reducing its young men and women to what abysses of mediocrity! Its true that all my lovers were of the simplest type; and could only flush and fade crudely like sea anemones bathed now blue, now red. Thats what I meant, I think.

Ik moest lachen, want ik lachte in die tijd sowieso veel.

My masters are not infallible. They're neither Goethe, who had a sleepless night only when distant volcanoes moaned, nor Horace, who wrote in the language of gods and altar boys. My masters seek my advice. In fleecy overcoats hurriedly slipped on  over their dreams, at dawn, when the cool wind interrogates the birds, my masters talk in whispers. I can hear their broken speech.