Loss of Nerve

Language. A place of hope, a paradisal place -

The word, and the dream, and so forth. Bashful absurdity, stop to form its signs.

And what am I reduced to?

What?

For in the end, speaking plainly, speaking one word and then another of a significant matter, we are not flesh and blood, they are not that which matters, not the nerves. We are composed, yes, laugh all you will at this discomfiture, we are made for our nerves. And when they are gone, what, cut connection, lost? Lines. The beginning and the end. The beginning is all there is, yes, and so is the end, the beginning and the end, a quickness lost