I tell X I could be walking through some gleaming seaside village under a serene sky, I could be dreaming under a lone oak tree, calm and content, instead of letting him get to me. Get off me, I say, you’re like a needy dog, you bore me, I’m violently bored.
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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