I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.

Remembered line from a long-
forgotten poem

But at times I wondered if I had not come a long way only to find that what I really sought was something I had left behind.

Long ago I abandoned my masterpiece
a roll of paper thirty yards long
which I filled completely with minute handwriting
in my dungeon years ago
It vanished when the Bastille fell
it vanished as everything written
everything thought and planned
will disappear

471. It is so difficult to find the beginning. Or, better: it is difficult to begin and the beginning. And not try to go further back.

471. It is so difficult to find the beginning. Or, better: it is difficult to begin at the beginning. And not try to go further back.

Beginnings are very elusive things, almost as elusive as true endings.

I want so much that is not here and do not know
where to go.

Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges—
Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!

Everything I sought in life I abandoned for the sake of the search. I'm like one who absentmindedly looks for he doesn't know what, having forgotten it in his dreaming as the search got under way.

Across the gently rolling hills,
Beyond high mountain peaks,
Along the shores of distant seas,
There's something my heart seeks.

But there's no peace in wandering,
The road's not made for rest.
And footsore fools will never know
What home might suit them best.

But, oh, the things that I have seen,
The secret paths I've trod,
The hidden corners of the world
Known to none but me and God.

Yes, the world was meant for knowing,
And feet were meant to roam.
But one who's always going
Will never find a home.

Oh, where's the thread that binds me,
The voice that calls me back?
Where's the love that finds me — And what's the root I lack?

471. It is so difficult to find the beginning. Or, better: it is difficult to being at the beginning. And not to try to go further back.

..Since I myself needed a year to discover the significance of this strange work, many of the texts and tunes, particularly in the first paintings, elude my memory and must - like the creation as a whole so it seems to me - remain shrouded in darkness.

You for whom I have looked so hard without ever finding. You whom I have longed for, called after, without ever seeing you come, you who are always present without ever existing – I am writing to you now. You who are basically only myself, but a much bigger and more noble self, an ingenious self, a self far from me, as real as the whole distance between the dream and the reality.