But now i found writing such hard going that it often took me a whole day to compose a single sentence, and no sooner had I thought such a sentence out, with the greatest effort, and written it down, than i saw the awkward falsity of my constructions and inadequancy of all the words I had employed. If at times some kind of self-deception none the less made me feel that I had done a good day's work, then as soon as I glanced at the page next morning I was sure to find the most appalling mistakes, inconsistencies and lapses staring at me from the paper. However much or little I had written, on a subsequent reading it always seemed so fundamentally flawed that I had to destroy it immediately and begin again. Soon I could not even venture on the first step. ... Now and then a train of thought did succeed in emerging with wonderful clarity inside my head, but I knew even as it formed that I was in no position to record it, for as soon as I so much as pick up my pencil the endless possibilities of language, to which i could once safely abandon myself, became a conglomeration of the most inane phrases.

W.G.Sebald - Austerlitz

pekna knizka, viac esej ako roman, pekne oldschoolovo napisana, dycha na mna dychom starej europy... tuto napriklad o obdobi neschopnosti pisat ktorou aj ja casto trpim..a este o vselicom inom