I have made up thousands of stories; I have filled innumerable notebooks with phrases to be used when I have found the true story, the one story to which all these phrases refer. But I have never yet found the story. And I begin to ask, Are there stories?

“Tu și eu, și ea trecem și pierim; nimic nu dăinuie; totul se schimbă; în afară …”

“Intellectual freedom depends upon material things. Poetry depends upon intellec…”

“Every single thing [...] he found thus cumbered with other matter like the lump…”

“Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I must push my foot stealthily lest …”