We cannot love, son.
Listen: to love is to possess.
Whenever I see someone sleep,
I remember that everything is slumber.
Ah, it’s not true that life is painful,
or that it’s painful to think
about life.
Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost,
with no connection to anything real or useful – only then do I find myself and
feel comforted.
Do we only dream them? We die.