In theory there is a possibility of perfect happiness: To believe in the indestructible element within one, and not to strive towards it.

I am a retiring, silent, unsociable, and discontent person.

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

It would be very unjust to say that you deserted me, but that I was deserted, and sometimes terribly so, is true.

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

I carry the bars within me.

The state we find ourselves in is sinful quite independent of guilt.