England offers new comforts. I could write a novel there.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utterโ they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
I like you, but not too much. I donโt want to like anybody too much.
Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch.
Thatโs one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.