More than annoyed, sad. More than sad, unhappy. More than unhappy, suffering.
We are like a raging wind that rips up the clothes of clouds and prayers, we are preparing the great spectacle of disaster, conflagration and decomposition.
There is an old and a new consciousness of time
. . . this feeling of being at someone else's mercy weighs on me tremendously, and when such circumstances are prolonged I cannot find delight in art. . .