Such inertia and void as never before. I remember an entry in Kafka’s diary. ‘Gardening. No hope for the future.’ At least he could garden. There must be words for it. I don’t expect ever to find them.
— Beckett, letter (in Knowlson, Damned to Fame)
Such inertia and void as never before. I remember an entry in Kafka’s diary. ‘Gardening. No hope for the future.’ At least he could garden. There must be words for it. I don’t expect ever to find them.
— Beckett, letter (in Knowlson, Damned to Fame)