Looking over his life, X is embarrassed, he tells me, and sorry for everything he’s said, done and felt. He now realises he’s basically stupid. He’s in one of those moods, he says, when his whole life seems shameful, as if he’s an absurd interloper who has no place here, wherever that is, he says). And of course this thought is shameful in itself, he says, it’s shameful that he should have to feel this way, yet it’s right and proper, because he’s a scandal, a scandal against nature.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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