When you can no longer have an ideal,
because looking at life it seems like a huge puppet,
without connection, without explanation ever;
when you no longer have a feeling,
because you’ve managed not to esteem,
to no longer care about men and things,
and therefore you lack the habit, which you cannot find,
and occupation, which you disdain
when you, in a word, live without life,
think without a thought,
feel without a heart –
then you will not know what to do:
you will be a wanderer without a home,
a bird without a nest.
I am like that.
- by Luigi Pirandello
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