It is not good to leave eggshells open to the view.
There is always someone who wants to take
advantage of your weakness. After the contents
was eaten, regret disappears without trace: sometimes
it remains for a short while at the back of the tongue
and then you feel the taste of the raw quail egg
before it is gone forever. Consolation is always
close at hand, or even closer than that, somewhere
in the body for which we mistakenly think that we
know it because it belongs to us. Our love that holds
the name of love is, in point of fact, one of many
imaginable forms of fervent compassion that
had slipped too deep down the throat and now
do not know how to get out. There is no such pain
that could not be completely dissolved in the mouth.
This is called the pleasure of disappearing.