Besides, tomorrow everything would look different. The day always came with more than mere light. However frayed your emotions, it was impossible to … - Karl Ove Knausgård

Perhaps they were dead and imagined they were living? Perhaps everyone was dead? Perhaps he’d always been dead? That what he’d always assumed was life was actually death?

I was a wannabe who was actually unable to write because I had nothing to say, who wasn’t honest enough with himself to draw the appropriate conclusions and was therefore trying to get a foot in the world of literature at any cost. Not as someone who created something himself, someone who wrote and was published, but as a parasite, as someone who wrote as others wrote, a second-rater.

There was something I couldn’t do and something I didn’t understand. There were secrets and there was darkness, there were shady dealings and there was laughter that jeered at everything. Oh, I sensed it, but I knew nothing about it. Nothing.