Knowing it can always get worse, I try to be grateful for whatever good I have.
You have to be slightly blind to believe in any cause.
I feel helpless, hopeless, too low to call out, too weak to think. Impotent tears dribble down.
If I had my wilderness, nature could be my lover. What can I do in the paved streets for my thirsty roots? I waste time. I encourage fools. I slip the vital hours into penny slot machines -- to pass time, to start my stuck wheels only love can oil.
But those with shattered souls find it very difficult to speak.
Vanity is a vital aid to nature: completely and absolutely necessary to life. It is one of nature's ways to bind you to the earth.