We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but
when it comes to saying, even to someone opposite, what w

But when it comes to thought, it is I who continue it, I who
unwind it. I exist. I think I exist. Oh, how long and serpentine this feeling
of existing is – and I unwind it, slowly….If only I could prevent myself from
thinking! I try, I succeed: it seems as if my head is filling with smoke….And
now it starts again: ‘Smoke…. Mustn’t think…. I don’t want to think….I think
that I don’t want to think. I mustn’t think that I don’t want to think. Because
it is still a thought. Will there never be an end to it?

My thought is me: that is why I can’t stop. I exist
by what I think… and I can’t prevent myself from thinking.

From Nausea, by Jean-Paul Sartre (more…)

We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but
when it comes to saying, even to someone opposite, what w

We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called
thinking, but when it comes to saying, even to someone opposite, what we think,
then how little we are able to convey!

……

He refused to teach; he refused to preach; he kept on saying
that he was just like other people. All his effort was to write himself down,
to communicate, to tell the truth, and that is a ‘rugged road, more than it
seems’.

For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is
the supreme difficulty of being oneself.

From Montaigne; A Woman’s Essays, by Virginia Wolf (more…)