We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes. - Franz Kafka

Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs one hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate — he has little success in this — but with his other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins, for he sees different (and more) things than do the others; after all, dead as he is in his own lifetime, he is the real survivor. This assumes that he does not need both hands, or more hands than he has, in his struggle against despair.

What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.

It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go.