“No need of a mouth: the words are everywhere, inside me, outside me. (Well, well! A minute ago I had no thickness!) I hear them? No need to hear them, no need of a head. Impossible to stop them, impossible to stop. I’m in words, made of words, others’ words. (What others?) The place too - the air, the walls, the floor, the ceiling: all words. The whole world is here with me. I’m the air, the walls, the walled-in one. Everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows. Like flakes. I’m all these flakes, meeting, mingling, falling asunder. Wherever I go I find me, leave me, go towards me, come from me: nothing ever but me, a particle of me, retrieved, lost, gone astray. I’m all these words, all these strangers: this dust of words (with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing) coming together to say (fleeing one another to say) that I am they, all of them: those that merge, those that part, those that never meet. And nothing else.”
—Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable (1953) (via etctatic) (via invisiblestories)
