Everything I wrote was in cafés, mostly quiet cafés, but also in bustling, crowded cafés. It never bothers me when people talk. Many writers have tortured their families because the noise made it difficult for them to concentrate […] I have a great deal of respect for an artist who doesn’t impose his moods on those around him. Writing is a struggle, and it should be between you and yourself, without involving additional people.
— Appelfeld (quoted here)
Sometimes, he cannot help but think that animals are close to the divine.
It is we who were expelled from paradise, he says. Not the animals.
The world outside of mind we can know only from the beast’s face, he says. He is quoting.
He cannot help but think that animals show him something. That an animal is nothing but that — showing.
There is a lesson he is being taught. There is a lesson that animals are trying to teach him. But how can he heed it?
What an animal is — is obvious. It is there, simple. As to what a human being is …
What would an animal say if it were able to speak? Of course, but animals remain on the other side of speech. On the far side of speech. Still, all the animals around us can be understood to interrupt our speaking, he says. To cut across it.
He has always thought of himself as awaiting the Word which will release him. It seems to him that it is this Word which resides with animals, on the side of animals.
The animal exists in a state of grace, of that he is sure. The animal is already in paradise.
— Lars Iyer, Wittgenstein Jr.