“When I’m alone, I take up my pen, intending to write. I bite my nails. I wear out my forehead. No good. Good night. The god is absent. I’d persuaded myself that I had some genius, but at the end of a line I read that I am a fool, a fool, a fool.” – Denis Diderot, Rameau’s Nephew (trans. Ian C. Johnston)
August 6th, 2020 · No Comments
Tags: Lit & Crit
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