Or is it life, not letters, that dupes us mercilessly?… Oh well, how can one really tell one from the other anyway? How can one discern?… And after a while that seems like an eternal passing which never happened, one almost believes that all has been forgotten, all has been erased, all has ceased to be, become, come and go (“ talking of Michelangelo ”?…). I am afraid I am going to deluge you with an overly extended opening, but sometimes, especially when – metaphorically speaking – one’s eyes were not used in a way one had wished them to be used, certain letters delude us in a prolonged manner without the slightest indication of any mischievousness. (…)it’s nice to talk like everybody else, to say the sun rises, when everybody knows it’s only a manner of speaking. It is an hypothesis that the sun will rise tomorrow: and this means that we do not know whether it will rise.
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