Bokelskere.no

I wasn't capable of entrusting myself to true feelings, I didn't know how to be drawn beyond the limits [...] I stayed behind, waiting. She, on the other hand, seized things, truly wanted them, was passionate about them, played for all or nothing, and wasn't afraid of contempts, mockery, spitting, beatings. She deserved Nino, in other words, because she thought that to love him meant to try to have him, not to hope that he would want her.

Did I keep my feelings muted because I was frightened by the violence with which, in fact, in my innermost self, I wanted things, people, praise, triumphs?

For your whole life you love people and you never really know who they are.

Both of us, evidently, were afraid of escaping ourselves, of erasing in a moment of distraction the mask of self-possession we had given ourselves.

I was afraid that, whatever she wore, her beauty would explode like a star and everyone would be eager to grab a fragment of it.

I have an emptiness inside me that weights me down.

Is it possible that our parents never die, that every child inevitably conceals them in himself?

I understood only later that I can be quietly unhappy, because I'm incapable of violent reactions, I fear them, I prefer to be still, cultivating resentment.

Things without meaning are the most beautiful ones.