Rejoice With Those Who Rejoice." I Have

There Is So Little To Remember Of Anyone - An Anecdote, A Conversation At A Table. But Every Memory Is Turned Over And Over Again, Every Word, However Chance, Written In The Heart In The Hope That Memory Will Fulfill Itself, And Become Flesh, And That The Wanderers Will Find A Way Home, And The Perished, Whose Lack We Always Feel, Will Step Through The Door Finally And Stroke Our Hair With Dreaming Habitual Fondness Not Having Meant To Keep Us Waiting Long.

I'm Amazed At What I Have Taken For Granted. How To Truly Take In Our Situation I Don't Know, But I Wish I Had Started Asking Myself That Question Earlier Than I Did.

Of My Conception I Know Only What You Know Of Yours. It Occurred In Darkness And I Was Unconsenting... By Some Bleak Alchemy What Had Been Mere Unbeing Becomes Death When Life Is Mingled With It.

I Think The Attempt To Defend Belief Can Unsettle It, In Fact, Because There Is Always An Inadequacy In Argument About Ultimate Things.

I Owe Everything That I Have Done To The Fact That I Am Very Much At Ease Being Alone.