O heart, such disorganization!

Widow. The word consumes itself.

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.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal.

I want to force myself again and again to leave the warmth and security of static situations and move into the world of growth and suffering where the real books are people's minds and souls.

To annihilate the world by annihilation of oneself is the deluded height of desperate egoism.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.