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350 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 1990
I am not unhappy because I am not reflecting on my life. The objects 'happiness' and 'unhappiness' no longer exist, nor does this object 'life.' At the same time, and that goes along with it, no 'clinging' to will, regret or hope; I don't desire or expect anything, and am well beyond regrets. A kind of peace.
And underlying everything, and before me, an incomprehensible horror. It is impossible to foresee anything, imagine anything, or touch anything. In any case, it's better not to try. I felt frozen and strained inside, strained in order to preserve a void—and an impression of fragility. Just one false move and it could turn suddenly into intolerable suffering.
Something terrible was beginning, but the idea had something adventurous and passionately interesting about it. I was interested in my own self, wondering how I would react, how I would bear hardship...from time to time I had the pleasant impression that I was living in some Wells novel, being transported into an era and a place totally detached from me, but with the miraculous possibility of watching what was happening in the world—and then I remembered that there was no other world waiting for me, that there would be no awakening, and that was my own destiny.
I think you haven't forgotten how much I love you - I think you know that I am absolutely nothing more than waiting for you. It gives me strength. Since you know that I'm with you, you're still with me—you, my only absolute.