坠落的审判

You say your books always mix truth and fiction.That makes us want to figure out which is which.

I never see anybody, I work here all day long,you come to see me, of course you interest me.

What interest you？

I left my shithole in Germany and ended up stuck in his shithole.It's fucking absurd,isn't it？

Our relationship revolved around intellectual stimulation,even if it meant neglecting everything else.

The trial is not about you hearing.It's about establishing the truth,without being forced to censor ourselves.

He was frustrated with teaching.It had become a burden,and he wanted to write.He'd been working on a novel for years,before and after Daniel's accident.I read everything he wrote. I thought it was really good and I told him so. But from one day to another, he just couldn't do it anymore, he just stopped. It made him feel like a coward.He would belittle himself. He ended up convincing himself he could not write, because of his dependency on the medication.He wanted to free himself of that, and he could not, of course not…

He could not talk about the suicide attempt because his feeling of failure were just too painful, and he never spoke of that.

You were a little bit lost, as I can remember, lonely, and ambitious, and I was hopelessly in love.

This is life,things circulate.

You see no one but yourself.

I can live without sex, but not forever

Me personally, I refuse to rot inside,so I find solution. At this point, sex was a question of personal hygiene.

So fucking many impose

You complain about the life you chose, you're not a victim.Not at all.

Your generosity conceals something dirtier and meaner, you're incapable of facing your ambitious and resent me for it.

But I am not the one put you where you are, I've nothing to do with it.You're not sacrificing yourself as you say. You choose to sit on the sidelines because you're afraid,because your pride makes your head explode before you can even come up with a germ of an idea. And you wake up at 40 needing someone to blame. You're the one to blame.

You're petrified by your own fucking standards and fear of failure. This is the truth.

The energy of despair.

The final push before giving up.In his final days,this man isn't facing a war in his marriage.He's facing his own failures.

Somebody said, of course money doesn't make you happy, but it's still better to cry in a car than in a subway.

I don’t think it matters how he died. The fact is, the idea of a writer killing her husband is far more compelling than a teacher killing himself.

It feels like when we lack proof to make us sure how something happened, we have to look further, as the trail is doing. When we’ve looked everywhere and still don’t understand how the things happened, I think we have to ask why it happened.

You need to be aware of it. It’ll happen someday.