January 2011
5 posts
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
– Oscar Wilde
“A hundred times I wished to kill myself, but my love of life persisted. This...”
– from the Old Woman’ Story in Voltaire’s Candide
I do know that space, time, dimension, becoming, future, destiny, being, non-being, self, non-self, are nothing to me; but there is a thing which is something,
only one thing which is something, and which I feel because it wants to get out:
the presence of my bodily suffering,
the menacing, never tiring presence of my body.
Antonin Artaud.
