As We Wash Our Body So We

I Look For Myself But Find No One. I Belong To The Chrysanthemum Hour Of Bright Flowers Placed In Tall Vases. I Should Make An Ornament Of My Soul.

I'm Sick Of Everything, And Of The Everythingness Of Everything.

Direct Experience Is The Evasion, Or Hiding Place Of Those Devoid Of Imagination.

I'm Astounded Whenever I Finish Something. Astounded And Distressed. My Perfectionist Instinct Should Inhibit Me From Finishing; It Should Inhibit Me From Even Beginning. But I Get Distracted And Start Doing Something. What I Achieve Is Not The Product Of An Act Of My Will But Of My Will's Surrender. I Begin Because I Don't Have The Strength To Think; I Finish Because I Don't Have The Courage To Quit. This Book Is My Cowardice.

To Know Nothing About Yourself Is To Live. To Know Yourself Badly Is To Think.