Lust Is A Mysterious Wound In The

When Writing Of Oneself One Should Show No Mercy. Yet Why At The First Attempt To Discover One's Own Truth Does All Inner Strength Seem To Melt Away In Floods Of Self-pity And Tenderness And Rising Tears?

But I Shall Give Less Thought To The Future, I Shall Work In The Present. I Feel Such Work Is Within My Power. For I Only Succeed In Small Things, And When I Am Tried By Anxiety, I Am Bound To Say It Is The Small Joys That Release Me.

Sadness Came Into The World With Satan - That World Our Saviour Never Prayed For, The World You Say I Do Not Know. Oh, It Is Not So Difficult To Recognize: It Is The World That Prefers Cold To Warmth! What Can God Find To Say To Those Who, Of Their Own Free Will, Of Their Own Weight Incline Towards Sadness And Turn Instinctively Towards The Night?

Only The Present Counts.

[t]he Cradle Is Shallower Than The Grave.