« Would a dream ever be just a self-portrait, beyond the mirror? »

« I had never cared about my health or my age. But for some time I felt tired, my nights were interrupted by sudden awakenings - and in those hours the lucidity is fierce. I was asleep at dawn, and only painfully came out of this half-sleep to grumble against the absurdity of the world and the futility of everything. I skinned the proper names as if that of one mingled with that of the other, the most familiar telephone numbers escaped me as if the thread that connected me to my friends could break at every moment. I often had back pain, sometimes coughing, in short I felt not old but worse aging, inexorably aging, and I had trouble admitting this finding of a progressive body failure. What I dreaded most was that I would soon find myself unable to be sensitive to the new, to be marked and modified by the unexpected - or else it would only be in fleeting moments that would leave no trace. My identity was acquired, I would be reduced to that little thing that would never cease to accompany me. From there came my morning gloom: this bitter weariness to find myself the same, day after day, while in my nights rich in apparitions, stories, events, my nights wickedly interrupted, I had been a thousand others! The only idea that I would soon resemble those of my older friends whose interests I had seen, year after year, the interests shrink, the existence to be shrivelled, the greedy withdrawal on themselves increase without their knowledge, this one idea revolted me. It looked like they were anticipating a future status of mummy encased in its strips in order to spare themselves a process of decomposition. »

« Our comment attempted, on the main concepts he encountered, to raise them or at least to shed light on their ambiguities, to possibly explain their contradictions; it is rare that these do not lead to a problem that can be found at the level of experience itself. »