Enormous prison, like a hundred thousand cathedrals.
Never anything else any more, from this time forth.
And in it, somewhere, perhaps - riveted, tiny - the prisoner.
How can he be found?
How false this space is!
What falseness instantly, to want to draw that round you, to want to put a being there!
A cell would be plenty.

Extract from The Unnamable by Samuel Beckett


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