In the labyrinth of a difficult text, we find unmarked forks in the path, detours, blind alleys, loops that deliver us back to our point of entry, and finally the monster who whispers an unintelligible truth in our ears.
In love, we worry more about the meaning of silences than the meaning of words.
Reclusive? The inner city will secure your privacy better than any desert cave.
Compassion brings us to a stop, and for a moment we rise above ourselves.
Anxiety and lust are evicting the older passions.
I feel disappointed, but I don't remember just what I expected.