But you have to choose: live or tell. - Jean-Paul Sartre

You're lucky. I'm always conscious of myself — in my mind. Painfully conscious.

I am beginning to believe that nothing can ever be proved. These are honest hypotheses which take the facts into account: but I sense so definitely that they come from me, and that they are simply a way of unifying my own knowledge. Not a glimmer comes from Rollebon's side. Slow, lazy, sulky, the facts adapt themselves to the rigour of the order I wish to give them; but it remains outside of them. I have the feeling of doing a work of pure imagination.

Time gnaws and wears away; it separates; it flies. And by virtue of separation — by separating man from his pain or from the object of his pain — time cures.