Synoptic Sentence View: Sentence 2307

L'Innommable Segment 2307, version 1 (MS-HRC-SB-4-1, f. 59v)

A moi, à moi, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, moi qui réussis si bien dans les descriptions d'endroits, des murs, des plafonds, des planchers, ça me connaît, des fenêtres, portes, des fenêtres, qu'est-ce que j'ai pu imaginer comme fenêtres depuis le temps, il y en avait qui s'ouvraient sur la mer, on ne voyait que la mer et le ciel, je n'ai qu'a ^{si je pouvais} me mettre dans une chambre, j'en aurais de quoi parler c'en serait fini de ma chasse aux mots, même sans porte, même sans fenêtre, rien que les 4 faces, les 6 faces, si je pouvais m'enfermer, ce serait une mine, il pourrait faire noir, je pourrais être fixe, je me debrouillerais , pour l'explorer, j'écouterai l'écho, je n'aurais pas besoin de l'explorer je la connaîtrais, je m'en souviendrais, je me l'imaginerais, je serais chez moi, je dirais comment c'est, je dirais comment c'est chez moi, au lieu de dire n'importe quoi, cet endroit, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, j'ai essayé, je ne sens pas d'endroit, pas d'endroit autour de moi, je n'arrête pas, je ne sais pas ce que c'est, ce n'est pas de la chair, ça n'arrête pas, c'est comme de l'air, ça y est, cette fois c'est moi, on dit ça, ça ne durera pas, comme de l'air, du gaz, balivernes, l'endroit, l'endroit d'abord, après je m'y trouverai, je m'y mettrai, bien solide, au milieu, ou dans un coin, bien soutenu sur trois faces, l'endroit, si seulement je pouvais me sentir un endroit, j'ai essayé, je vais essayer, ça n'a jamais été le mien, cette mer sous ma fenêtre, plus haut que ma fenêtre, et le canot, tu te rappelles le canot, et le fleuve, et la baie, je disais ^savais que j'avais des souvenirs, dommage qu'ils ne soient pas sur moi, et les étoiles, et les phares ^fanaux, et les feux des bouées, et la montagne en feu, c'était à l'époque où je ne me refusais rien, les autres en profitaient, ils mouraient comme des mouches, ou la forêt, je n'ai pas essentiellement besoin d'un toit, d'un intérieur, si je pouvais me supposer dans une forêt, caché dans un fourré, ou tournant en rond, ^{c'en serait fini de mes bafouillages,} je décrirais les feuilles, l'une a une à une, au moment de la pousse, au moment de l'ombre, au moment de la chute, au moment de l'humus, ce sont de bons moments, pour qui n'a pas à dire, mais ce n'est pas moi, ce n'est pas pour moi, où suis-je, qu'est-ce que je fais, pendant ce temps, comme si cela avait de l'importance, mais voilà, cela jette un froid, de se sentir si loin, le cœur n'y est plus, le cœur qui y était, au milieu des ronces, bercé par l'ombre, on essaie la mer, on essaie la ville, on se cherche dans la montagne et dans la plaine, que voulez-vous, on se veut, on se veut dans son coin, ce n'est pas l'amour, ce n'est pas la curiosité, on est inquiet, c'est la fatigue, on veut s'arrêter, ne plus voyager, ne plus chercher, ne plus mentir, ne plus parler, fermer les yeux, mais les siens, se mettre la main dessus quoi, après ça ne traînerait pas.

L'Innommable Segment 2307, version 2 (Minuit 1953, p. 230)

A moi, à moi, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, moi qui réussis si bien dans les descriptions d'endroits, des murs, des plafonds, des planchers, ça me connaît, des portes, des fenêtres, qu'est-ce que j'ai pu imaginer comme fenêtres depuis le temps, il y en avait qui s'ouvraient sur la mer, on ne voyait que la mer et le ciel, si je pouvais me mettre dans une chambre, c'en serait fini de la chasse aux mots, même sans porte, même sans fenêtre, rien que les quatre faces, les six faces, si je pouvais m'enfermer, ce serait une mine, il pourrait faire noir, je pourrais être fixe, je me débrouillerais, pour l'explorer, j'écouterais l'écho, je la connaîtrais, je m'en souviendrais, je me l'imaginerais, je serais chez moi, je dirais comment c'est, chez moi, au lieu de n'importe quoi, cet endroit, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, le dépeindre, j'ai essayé, je ne sens pas d'endroit, pas d'endroit autour de moi, je n'arrête pas, je ne sais pas ce que c'est, ce n'est pas de la chair, ça n'arrête pas, c'est comme de l'air, ça y est, cette fois c'est moi, on dit ça, ça ne durera pas, comme du gaz, balivernes, l'endroit, l'endroit, après nous aviserons, l'endroit d'abord, après je m'y trouverai, je m'y introduirai, bien solide, au milieu, ou dans un coin, bien soutenu sur trois faces, l'endroit, si seulement je pouvais me sentir un endroit, j'ai essayé, je vais essayer, ça n'a jamais été le mien, cette mer sous ma fenêtre, plus haut que ma fenêtre, et le canot, tu te rappelles le canot, et le fleuve, et la baie, je savais bien que j'avais des souvenirs, dommage qu'ils ne soient pas sur moi, et les étoiles, et les fanaux, et les feux des bouées, et la montagne en feu, c'était à l'époque où je ne me refusais rien, les autres en profitaient, ils mouraient comme des mouches, ou la forêt, je n'ai pas essentiellement besoin d'un toit, d'un intérieur, si je pouvais m'imaginer dans une forêt, fourré dans un fourré, ou tournant en rond, c'en serait fini de mes bafouillages, je décrirais les feuilles, une à une, au moment de la pousse, au moment de l'ombre, au moment de la chute, au moment de l'humus, ce sont de bons moments, pour qui n'a pas à dire, Mais ce n'est pas moi, ce n'est pas moi, où est-ce que je suis, qu'est-ce que je fais, pendant ce temps, comme si cela avait de l'importance, mais voilà, ça jette un froid, de se sentir si loin, le cœur n'y est plus, le cœur qui y était, au milieu des ronces, bercé par l'ombre, on essaie la mer, on essaie la ville, on se cherche dans la montagne et dans la plaine, que voulez-vous, on se veut, on se veut dans son coin, ce n'est pas l'amour, ce n'est pas la curiosité, on est inquiet, c'est la fatigue, on veut s'arrêter, ne plus voyager, ne plus chercher, ne plus mentir, ne plus parler, fermer les yeux, mais les siens, se mettre la main dessus quoi, après ça ne traînera pas.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 3 (MS-HRC-SB-5-9-3, f. 33r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so successful with my descriptions of places, of walls, ceilings, floors, they're a x spe they're my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows since I first be in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, xxx that's that would be the end of the wordhunt, even doorless, even windowless, x nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be incapable of motion, I'd find a way, to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it was ^it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, depict it, I've tried, I don't feel any place, no place round me, xxx there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, that's what you say, it won't last, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, the place first, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for myself, I've tried, I'll try again, it was never none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember the rowboat, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time when nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died off like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, xx an interior, if I could imagine myself in a forest, caught in a thicket, or tur wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blathering, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good moments, for one who has need not say, But it isn't me, it isn't me, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that had any impo mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, in the middle among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you tried the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and in the and the plains, what can you it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because you're tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you wi you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 4 (MS-HRC-SB-5-10, f. 128r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you could see was sea and sk y sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordhunt, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be fixed and motionless, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describethis

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 5 (MS-HRC-SB-5-10, f. EXTRACT2-01r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you could see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordhunt ^wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, you say that, ^{to say something} you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a sl^olid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it isn't ^{it is not it's not} I, it isn't ^{it's not} I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plain, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own littl little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because you^'re are tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 6 (MS-HRC-TQ-2-18-1, f. 01r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you could see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in t^{a a} room, that would be the end of the wordhunt ^wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, you say that, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a sl^olid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their h^growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it isn't ^{is not} I, it isn't ^{is not} I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plain, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own littl^e little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because you are tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 7 (MS-HRC-TQ-2-18-2, f. 01r)

[^{Flush left |←}] Help, help,[^{2 xxx xxx instead}] if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, you say that, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good me^oments, for one who has not to say, But it is not I, it is not I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plain, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because [/] you are tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 8 (MS-HRC-TQ-2-18-3, f. 01r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, you say that, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it is not I, it is not I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plain, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because you are tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 9 (Texas Quarterly, p. 129)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd get to imagine it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, this time it's I, you say that, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than my window, and the rowboat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, that would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, at the moment of their rotting, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it is not I, it is not I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plain, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, it's not curiosity, it's because you are tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 10 (MS-WU-MSS008-3-71, f. 124r)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, window^[⁁]s, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the cous^rse of my carer^er, some opened on the sea, all you see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that x^would be the end of the wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six w^surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd n^be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, you say that, to say something, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than the window, and the row-boat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, it would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it's not I, it's not I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, [^—]but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plains, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, not curiosity, it's because you're tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make shi^ort work of it.

The Unnamable Segment 2307, version 11 (Grove Press 1958, p. 157)

Help, help, if I could only describe this place, I who am so good at describing places, walls, ceilings, floors, they are my speciality, doors, windows, what haven't I imagined in the way of windows in the course of my career, some opened on the sea, all you could see was sea and sky, if I could put myself in a room, that would be the end of the wordy-gurdy, even doorless, even windowless, nothing but the four surfaces, the six surfaces, if I could shut myself up, it would be a mine, it could be black dark, I could be motionless and fixed, I'd find a way to explore it, I'd listen to the echo, I'd get to know it, I'd get to remember it, I'd be home, I'd say what it's like, in my home, instead of any old thing, this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place round me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air, now I have it, you say that, to say something, you won't say it long, like gas, balls, balls, the place, then we'll see, first the place, then I'll find me in it, I'll put me in it, a solid lump, in the middle, or in a corner, well propped up on three sides, the place, if only I could feel a place for me, I've tried, I'll try again, none was ever mine, that sea under my window, higher than the window, and the row-boat, do you remember, and the river, and the bay, I knew I had memories, pity they are not of me, and the stars, and the beacons, and the lights of the buoys, and the mountain burning, it was the time nothing was too good for me, the others benefited by it, they died like flies, or the forest, a roof is not indispensable, an interior, if I could be in a forest, caught in a thicket, or wandering round in circles, it would be the end of this blither, I'd describe the leaves, one by one, at the moment of their growing, at the moment of their giving shade, at the moment of their falling, those are good moments, for one who has not to say, But it's not I, it's not I, where am I, what am I doing, all this time, as if that mattered, but there it is, that takes the heart out of you, your heart isn't in it any more, your heart that was, among the brambles, cradled by the shadows, you try the sea, you try the town, you look for yourself in the mountains and the plains, it's only natural, you want yourself, you want yourself in your own little corner, it's not love, not curiosity, it's because you're tired, you want to stop, travel no more, seek no more, lie no more, speak no more, close your eyes, but your own, in a word lay your hands on yourself, after that you'll make short work of it.

L'Innommable Segment 2307, version 12 (Minuit 1971, p. 187)

A moi, à moi, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, moi qui réussis si bien dans les descriptions d'endroits, des murs, des plafonds, des planchers, ça me connaît, des portes, des fenêtres, qu'est-ce que j'ai pu imaginer comme fenêtres depuis le temps, il y en avait qui s'ouvraient sur la mer, on ne voyait que la mer et le ciel, si je pouvais me mettre dans une chambre, c'en serait fini de la chasse aux mots, même sans porte, même sans fenêtre, rien que les quatre faces, les six faces, si je pouvais m'enfermer, ce serait une mine, il pourrait faire noir, je pourrais être fixe, je me débrouillerais, pour l'explorer, j'écouterais l'écho, je la connaîtrais, je m'en souviendrais, je me l'imaginerais, je serais chez moi, je dirais comment c'est, chez moi, au lieu de n'importe quoi, cet endroit, si je pouvais décrire cet endroit, le dépeindre, j'ai essayé, je ne sens pas d'endroit, pas d'endroit autour de moi, je n'arrête pas, je ne sais pas ce que c'est, ce n'est pas de la chair, ça n'arrête pas, c'est comme de l'air, ça y est, cette fois c'est moi, on dit ça, ça ne durera pas, comme du gaz, balivernes, l'endroit, l'endroit, après nous aviserons, l'endroit d'abord, après je m'y trouverai, je m'y introduirai, bien solide, au milieu, ou dans un coin, bien soutenu sur trois faces, l'endroit, si seulement je pouvais me sentir un endroit, j'ai essayé, je vais essayer, ça n'a jamais été le mien, cette mer sous ma fenêtre, plus haut que ma fenêtre, et le canot, tu te rappelles le canot, et le fleuve, et la baie, je savais bien que j'avais des souvenirs, dommage qu'ils ne soient pas sur moi, et les étoiles, et les fanaux, et les feux des bouées, et la montagne en feu, c'était à l'époque où je ne me refusais rien, les autres en profitaient, ils mouraient comme des mouches, ou la forêt, je n'ai pas essentiellement besoin d'un toit, d'un intérieur, si je pouvais m'imaginer dans une forêt, fourré dans un fourré, ou tournant en rond, c'en serait fini de mes bafouillages, je décrirais les feuilles, une à une, au moment de la pousse, au moment de l'ombre, au moment de la chute, au moment de l'humus, ce sont de bons moments, pour qui n'a pas à dire, Mais ce n'est pas moi, ce n'est pas moi, où est-ce que je suis, qu'est-ce que je fais, pendant ce temps, comme si cela avait de l'importance, mais voilà, ça jette un froid, de se sentir si loin, le cœur n'y est plus, le cœur qui y était, au milieu des ronces, bercé par l'ombre, on essaie la mer, on essaie la ville, on se cherche dans la montagne et dans la plaine, que voulez-vous, on se veut, on se veut dans son coin, ce n'est pas l'amour, ce n'est pas la curiosité, on est inquiet, c'est la fatigue, on veut s'arrêter, ne plus voyager, ne plus chercher, ne plus mentir, ne plus parler, fermer les yeux, mais les siens, se mettre la main dessus quoi, après ça ne traînera pas.