“The woman he loved most in the world (he was thirty at the time)
used to tell him (it would make him desperate to hear it) that her life
was hanging by a thread. Oh yes, she wanted to live, she loved life, but
she also knew that her ‘I want to live’ was spun from the threads of a
cobweb. It takes so little, so infinitely little, for a person to cross
the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions,
faith, history. Human life – and herein lies its secret – takes place in
immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it; it
is not miles away, but a fraction of an inch.”
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