by Rainer Maria Rilke
I loved it this time. (There is truth in inconsistency, is my claim for today.)
writing, isolation, communication, connection
“And I mean to write no more letters. What’s the use of telling anyone that I am changing? If I am changing, then surely I am no longer the person I was, and if I am something else than heretofore, then it is clear that I have no acquaintances. And to strange people, to people who do not know me, I cannot possibly write.” p. 15
“Is it possible that there are people who say ‘God’ and mean that this is something they have in common?” p. 29
“My God, if any of it could be shared! But would it be then, would it be? No, it is only at the price of solitude.” p. 68
“… and somehow vaguely foreseeing that life would be like this: full of many special things that are meant for one person alone and that cannot be told.” p. 85
“I shall telling nothing about you,… because only wrong is done in the telling.” p. 111