We are, each of us, our own prisoner. We are locked up in our own story.
... people get confidential at midnight.
My writing time needs to surround itself with empty stretches, or at least unpeopled ones, for the writing takes place in an area of suspension as in a hanging nest that is almost entirely encapsulated.
Meanwhile let us cast one shadow in air and water.
Love, we are a small pond.
Everything pays for growing tame.