A man was the cause of it all. An unarmed man with a weapon.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable list!), but one of these days there'll be nothing left with which to venture forth. Why should I share you? Why don't you get rid of someone else for a change?

I loved her fright, which was against me into the air! and the diamond white of her forelock which seemed to smart with thoughts as my heart smarted with life! and she'd toss her head with the pain and paw the air and champ the bit, as if I were Endymion and she, moon-like, hated to love me.

And don't worry about your lineage poetic or natural.

You just go on your nerve.

I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist.