I must spin good ghosts out of my hope to oppose the hordes at my window. If those who look in see me condescend to barricade the door, they will know too much and crowd in to overcome me.

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

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.

You will always have value and nothing can change that.

But those with shattered souls find it very difficult to speak.

The long days seduce all thought away, and we lie like the lizards in the sun, postponing our lives indefinitely.

How can I be kind? How can I find bird-relief in the nest-building of day-to-day? Necessity supplies no velvet wing with which to escape. I am indeed and mortally pierced with the seeds of love.