July 13
Cruel Sunday, not without reminding me of all those in whom I have experienced the total inanity of everything.
So far have I deepened my emptiness, have hollowed it out and have dwelt on it at length, that nothing remains of it, it seems to me nothing more: I have exhausted it, I have dried up the source of it.
The more I think of emptiness, the more I realize that I have made a mystical concept of it, or a substitute for the Infinite, perhaps for God.
To wriggle beast-like on a spoilt planet.
“… laziness is like a beatitude of the soul; that consoles it of all its losses, and that takes the place of all goods.” (La Rochefoucauld)
Paradise is everything, and I sometimes know this everything.
Boredom: empty suffering, diffused torment. One cannot be bored in hell, one is bored only in paradise. (To expand in the commentary on the “Dream of a Ridiculous Man” –)
Boredom in God.
One who does not know the voluptuousness of abandoning a project never knew boredom.
I have tried my best, but I cannot accept this universe without feeling guilty of fraud.
I am marvelously apt at imagining the despair of a hyena.
To describe those moments where life is suddenly emptied of all feeling, where satiety overwhelms you and puts an end to the effervescence of spirit.
I would love to have lived in a corrupt court, to be the skeptic of a prince…