He’s all that

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“The trouble is that the writer is not only several people in one, but each stage of himself denies all the others, demands everything for itself alone and does not tolerate any conciliation or compromise. The writer must respond to several absolute and absolutely different commands at once, and his morality is made up of the confrontation and opposition of implacably hostile rules. 
One rule says to him: “You will not write, you will remain nothingness, you will keep silent, you will not know words.”
The other rule says: “Know nothing but words.”
“Write to say nothing.”
“Write to say something.”
“No works; rather, the experience of yourself, the knowledge of what is unknown to you.”
“A work! A real work, recognized by other people and important to other people.”
“Obliterate the reader.”
“Obliterate yourself before the reader.”
“Write in order to be true.”
“Write for the sake of the truth.”
“Then be a lie, because to write with truth in mind is to write what is not yet tru and perhaps never will be true.”
“It doesn’t matter, write in order to act.”
“Write – you who are afraid to act.”
“Let freedom speak in you.”
“Oh! Do not let freedom become a word in you.”
Which law should be obeyed? Which voice should be listened to? But the writer must listen to them all! What confusion! Isn’t clarity his law? Yes, clarity too. He must therefore oppose himself, look for the deepness of the night in the facility of the day, look in the shadows which never begin, to find the sure light which cannot end. He must save the world and be the abyss, justify existence and allow what does not exist to speak; he must be at the end of all eras in the universal plenitude, and he is the origin, the birth of what does nothing but come into being. Is he all that?”

-BLANCHOT

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Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

-JULIET, QUEEN OF THE SORRY PEOPLE  
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