October 22, 1969

How old are you going to be?

Forty-six.

Oh, you're still a baby!

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I have some white hairs.

Really! ... Me, I haven't one! ... It's strange, not one.

It's because of this (Mother points to the little goose on her table), I told you the story .... The mind doesn't work, so I don't get tired!

I have a lot of work to do with my head, nonetheless.

I no longer do any.

Yes, but as for me, I have all the books to prepare! ... It's necessary.

Of course.

So it must be on purpose.

Yes.

But now, you see, people have made it a habit to ask me for a message on every occasion, and lots of people write to me, asking for answers. So I remain like that, and almost instantly (except in a few rare cases), the answer comes like this (gesture of descent). And if I don't feel like writing, it persists and persists ... and won't let go of me until I've written! Once I've written, it's over! To such a point that I don't even remember what I've written.

I'd like to learn the knack!

(silence)

I don't think there's a knack.

I can't even say that I made effort to get that, not at all.

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