I Am Haunted By Waters.

So It Is That We Can Seldom Help Anybody. Either We Don't Know What Part To Give Or Maybe We Don't Like To Give Any Part Of Ourselves. Then, More Often Than Not, The Part That Is Needed Is Not Wanted. And Even More Often, We Do Not Have The Part That Is Needed.

At Sunrise Everything Is Luminous But Not Clear. It Is Those We Live With And Love And Should Know Who Elude Us. You Can Love Completely Without Complete Understanding.

Slowly We Became Silent, And Silence Itself If An Enemy To Friendship.

I Had As Yet No Notion That Life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature—not For Long, Of Course, But Long Enough To Be What We Best Remember, And Often Enough So That What We Eventually Come To Mean By Life Are Those Moments When Life, Instead Of Going Sideways, Backwards, Forward, Or Nowhere At All, Lines Out Straight, Tense And Inevitable, With A Complication, Climax, And, Given Some Luck, A Purgation, As If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.

Help Is Giving Part Of Yourself To Somebody Who Comes To Accept It Willingly And Needs It Badly.