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A man who knows neither how to travel nor how to keep a journal has put together this travel journal. But at the moment of signing he is suddenly afraid. So he casts the first stone. Here.
— Henri Michaux
A man who knows neither how to travel nor how to keep a journal has put together this travel journal. But at the moment of signing he is suddenly afraid. So he casts the first stone. Here.
It is almost an intellectual tradition to pay heed to the insane. In my case those that I most respect are the morons.
You can love a woman. To admire her is hard. You are not dealing with something important.
In my night, I besiege my King. I rise up steadily and I wring his neck. He regathers his strength, I come back at him, and wring his neck another time. I shake him, shake him like an old prune tree, and his crown trembles on his head. But nevertheless, he is my King, I know it and he knows it, and it is quite certain that I am at his service.
It is preferable not to travel with a dead man.
Qui cache son fou, meurt sans voix
