You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away.

Adam's first domestic pet after the expulsion from Paradise was the serpent.

And I leave my post of observation and find I have had enough of this outside life; I feel that there is nothing more that I can learn here, either now or at any time. And I long to say a last goodbye to everything up here, to go down into my burrow never to return again, let things take their course, and not try to retard them with my profitless vigils.

Don't despair, not even over the fact that you don't despair.

I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.

I want in fact more of you. In my mind I am dressing you with light; I am wrapping you up in blankets of complete acceptance and then I give myself to you. I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.

Celibacy and suicide are a similar levels of understanding, suicide and a martyr's death not so by any means, perhaps marriage and a martyr's death.