When the dawn light is coursing through the slats in the shutters at last, making thin stripes on the floor, she, tossing, decides that for every human soul there must surely be a possible childhood worth living, but once it slips by, there isn’t any reclaiming it or revising it.

The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say.

Of course. You get everything from books.

Small steps to the madhouse still get us there at last

They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.

quoting reminds me there are other people in the world besides only me. And other thoughts besides mine, and other ways of thinking.

at least i'm talkng to myself. instead of giving myself the cold shoulder