Better To Try And Fail

The Death Of Leopold Gursky Leopold Gursky Started Dying On August 18, 1920. He Died Learning To Walk. He Died Standing At The Blackboard. And Once, Also, Carrying A Heavy Tray. He Died Practicing A New Way To Sign His Name. Opening A Window. Washing His Genitals In The Bath. He Died Alone, Because He Was Too Embarrassed To Phone Anyone. Or He Died Thinking About Alma. Or When He Chose Not To.

Tell Me, Was I The Sort Of Person Who Took Your Elbow When Cars Passed On The Street, Touched Your Cheek While You Talked, Combed Your Wet Hair, Stopped By The Side Of The Road In The Country To Point Out Certain Constellations, Standing Behind You So That You Had The Advantage Of Leaning And Looking Up?

I Have A Very Strong Sense Of Architecture In My Novels. But At First It's Sometimes Like Building A Doorknob Before You Have A Door, And A Door Before You Have A Room.

The Misery Of Other People Is Only An Abstraction Something That Can Be Sympathized With Only By Drawing From One's Own Experiences. But As It Stands, True Empathy Remains Impossible. And So Long As It Is, People Will Continue To Suffer The Pressure Of Their Seemingly Singular Existence.

It Is Impossible To Distrust One's Writing Without Awakening A Deeper Distrust In Oneself.