"In vain, I try to remember the moment I made the decision to become a writer. For I know that one day I made that decision, even if, in retrospect, such a confession might seem derisory or presumptuous.
Why am I stubbornly trying to remember that moment? Because, although the circumstances remain unclear to me, I have not forgotten how much my heart began to beat when I made that decision. And with what strength! As if, at the bend in a rocky escarpment, I had overlooked an immense plain; and as if the path I had taken had become so narrow that it was already impossible for me to turn back.
An anxiety identical to the one I would have felt if I had had an appointment with a girl, to tell her for example that I loved her."
How I never became a writer
"In his distress, I could hear him wondering aloud: Do you remain a writer after you've stopped writing? In other words, is there life after death? How can we account for what we are once we have decided to no longer be? Do you erase yourself from the surface of things after you've made up your mind not to leave any more traces?"
Diary of the unwritten
Les années mortes