Thursday, December 11, 2008


Here then is the man outside our people, outside our humanity.
He is continually starving, nothing belongs to him but the instant,
the prolonged instant of torture . . . He always has only one thing:
his suffering, but there is nothing on the entire face of the earth
that could serve as a remedy for him, there is no ground on which
to plant his two feet, no support for his two hands to grasp, and
thus there is so much less for him than there is for the music-hall
trapeze artist who is at least hanging by a thread.


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