"...it is not only the physical world that differs from the particular way we see it; that all reality is perhaps equally dissimilar from what we believe ourselves to be directly perceiving, which we compose with the help of ideas that do not reveal themselves but are functioning all the same, just as tress, the sun, and the sky would not be the way we see them if they were perceived by creatures with eyes differently constituted from our own, or with organs other than eyes, which fulfilled the same purpose and conveyed equivalents of trees and sky and sun, but not visual ones....
...people do not, as I had imagined, present themselves to us clearly and in fixity with their merits, their defects, their plans, their intentions in regard to ourselves (like a garden viewed through railings with all its flower beds on display), but, rather, as a shadow we can never penetrate of which there can be no direct knowledge, about which we form countless beliefs based upon words and even actions, neither of which give us more than insufficient and in fact contradictory information, a shadow that we can alternately imagine, with equal justification, as masking the burning flames of hatred and of love." Vol. 3, pp. 60-61
Food for thought/more truths:
Kerouac thought of himself as "a running Proust." Coincidence that I love them both or that I'm thinking about simultaneously revisiting The Dharma Bums? Not on your life.
*Translation copyright © Mark Treharne, 2002
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