Holding Someone's Hand Was Always My Idea

For Only When I Err Do I Get Away From What I Know And What I Understand. If "truth" Were What I Can Understand, It Would End Up Being But A Small Truth, My-sized. Truth Must Reside Precisely In What I Shall Never Understand.

To Think Is An Act. To Feel Is A Fact.

Putting My Hand In Someone Else’s Has Always Been My Definition Of Happiness. Before I Fall Asleep, Often - In That Small Struggle Not To Lose Consciousness And Go Into The Greater World - Often, Before I Get Up The Courage To Go Into The Vastness Of Sleep, I Pretend That Someone Has My Hand In Theirs, And Then I Go, Go To That Enormous Absence Of Form That Is Sleep. And When Even After That I Don’t Have Courage, I Dream.

Holding Someone's Hand Was Always My Idea Of Joy.

How Was She To Tie Herself To A Man Without Permitting Him To Imprison Her? And Was There Some Means Of Acquiring Things Without Those Things Possessing Her?