All time is now, and time can do no better. Nothing can ever be more now than now, and before this nothing was.

I feel helpless, hopeless, too low to call out, too weak to think. Impotent tears dribble down.

April 19 And now it is spring. Birds are singing. Wistful notes and jubilant. And bare streets and no need for coats, and skipping ropes and bicycles and a thin new moon.

What you forget is that plants themselves want to live as much as you want them to. More.

All time is now, and time can do no better. Nothing can ever be more now than now, and before this nothing was.

Work is the only only only remedy for life: for happiness, for interest, for stability, for security. Hard, willed work. Oh work!

Always that tyrannical love reaches out. Soft words shrivel me like quicklime. She will not allow me to be cold, hungry. She will insist that I take her own coat, her own food.