Now I know what loneliness is, I think. Momentary loneliness, anyway. It comes from a vague core of the self - - like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate the matrix, the spot of contagion.

They would grow old. They would forget me.

I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.

My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.

There was a beautiful time.

Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?