the cynic is a coward. He foresees all barrenness so that barrenness can never surprise him.
He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.
Houses turn to corpses overnight when we cease to live and love in them.
The personal, if it is deep enough, becomes universal, mythical, symbolic.
This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.
We love best those who are, or act for us, a self we do not wish to be or act out.