And So They Are Ever Returning To

I Have Always Kept Ducks, Even As A Child, And The Colours Of Their Plumage, In Particular The Dark Green And Snow White, Seemed To Me The Only Possible Answer To The Questions That Are On My Mind.

I Feel More And More As If Time Did Not Exist At All... Only Various Spaces Interlocking According To The Rules Of A Higher Form Of Stereometry[the Geometric Measurement Of Solid Bodies], Between Which The Living And The Dead Can Move Back And Forth As They Like, And The Longer I Think About It The More It Seems To Me That We Who Are Still Alive Are Unreal In The Eyes Of The Dead.

One Has The Impression That Something Is Stirring Inside [photographs] - It Is As If One Can Hear Little Cries Of Despair, Gémissements De Désespoir... As If The Photographs Themselves Had A Memory And Were Remembering Us And How We, The Surviving, And Those Who Preceded Us, Once Were.

How Happily, Said Austerlitz, Have I Sat Over A Book In The Deepening Twilight Until I Could No Longer Make Out The Words And My Mind Began To Wander, And How Secure Have I Felt Seated At The Desk In My House In The Dark Night, Just Watching The Tip Of My Pencil In The Lamplight Following Its Shadow, As If Of Its Own Accord And With Perfect Fidelity, While That Shadow Moved Regularly From Left To Right, Line By Line, Over The Ruled Paper.

Human Civilization Has Been No More Than A Strange Luminescence Growing More Intense By The Hour, Of Which No One Can Say When It Will Begin To Wane And When It Will Fade Away.