I Don't Think Anyone Is Thinking Long-term

A Solitary, Unused To Speaking Of What He Sees And Feels, Has Mental Experiences Which Are At Once More Intense And Less Articulate Than Those Of A Gregarious Man.

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

A Lonely, Quiet Person Has Observations And Experiences That Are At Once Both More Indistinct And More Penetrating Than Those Of One More Gregarious; His Thoughts Are Weightier, Stranger, And Never Without A Tinge Of Sadness. . . . Loneliness Fosters That Which Is Original, Daringly And Bewilderingly Beautiful, Poetic. But Loneliness Also Fosters That Which Is Perverse, Incongruous, Absurd, Forbidden.

This Was Love At First Sight, Love Everlasting: A Feeling Unknown, Unhoped For, Unexpected--in So Far As It Could Be A Matter Of Conscious Awareness; It Took Entire Possession Of Him, And He Understood, With Joyous Amazement, That This Was For Life.

What A Wonderful Phenomenon It Is, Carefully Considered, When The Human Eye, That Jewel Of Organic Structures, Concentrates Its Moist Brilliance On Another Human Creature!