Nymph arnina

“I have always felt a strange, vague presence near me: shadowy at night, a paler whiteness in the day, and changing shapes to the point of havingg none at the moments when I feared it most. Fascinated, I found myself at a crossroad; but in front of a hole. There, night and day did not know each other. I approached a death which did not know death because it had not known life, a death without dead, an orphaned life without lives, where nothing was ever other than nothing.”
― Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions: Volume II [IV. Yaël, V. Elya, VI. Aely, VII. El, Or the Last Book]

“The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me--many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead--but none the less, having formed the habit, it had become in some way helpful that I should register and interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only to make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my humble role in our alliance.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, Adventure of the Creeping Man

“I am the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle

“It is very hard to live with silence. The real silence is death and this is terrible. To approach this silence, it is necessary to journey to the desert. You do not go to the desert to find identity, but to lose it, to lose your personality, to be anonymous. You make yourself void. You become silence. You become more silent than the silence around you. And then something extraordinary happens: you hear silence speak.”
― Edmond Jabès, The Book of Margins