At present I am unable to write much. But here’s an interesting paragraph I came across in Niels Lyhne (1967) by J. P. Jacobsen:
When I sit here and mope and don’t do anything and can’t do anything,
then I actually feel the time slipping away from me. Hours and weeks and
months rush past with nothing in them, and I can’t nail them to the spot
with a piece of work…I want to get hold of it with something achieved.
When I paint a picture, the time I use for it remains mine forever; it isn’t
lost, even though it’s past (181).
Alright then,
Jane
