"In the best times of my life I always think I am making room, even more room in me. Here I shovel away snow, there I raise aloft a piece of fallen sky; there are superfluous lakes, I let them run out (I save the fish), overgrown forests, I drive crowds of apes into them, everything is astir, but there's never enough room, I never ask why, I never feel why, I just have to keep making room, on and on, and as long as I can do so, I merit my life."
–– Elias Canetti (1905-1994), Bulgarian-born novelist
via: Sketchbook 11, 2010, p. 11
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