The Book of Disquiet: The Complete Edition

I recognize that, although there’s no wind, nor any breeze to recall or deny the existence of a wind, a brisk coolness nonetheless hovers about the hazy city. I recognize all this, unthinkingly, unwillingly, and feel no desire to sleep, only the memory of that desire, feel no nostalgia, only disquiet.

I’m a perpetual unfolding of connected and disconnected images — always disguised as something external — that stand between men and the light if I’m awake, or between ghosts and the visible dark if I’m asleep. I really do not know how to distinguish one from the other, nor would I venture to affirm that I’m not sleeping when I’m awake, or that I’m

the cold that exists in space, but the cold