We Only Do Well The Things We

My True Friends Have Always Given Me That Supreme Proof Of Devotion, A Spontaneous Aversion For The Man I Loved.

Chance, My Master And My Friend, Will, I Feel Sure, Deign Once Again To Send Me The Spirits Of His Unruly Kingdom. All My Trust Is Now In Him- And In Myself. But Above All In Him, For When I Go Under He Always Fishes Me Out, Seizing And Shaking Me Like A Life-saving Dog Whose Teeth Tear My Skin A Little Every Time. So Now, Whenever I Despair, I No Longer Expect My End, But Some Bit Of Luck, Some Commonplace Little Miracle Which, Like A Glittering Link, Will Mend Again The Necklace Of My Days.

A Few Days Later, I Found My Mother Beneath The Tree, Motionless With Excitement, Her Head Turned Toward The Heavens In Which She Would Allow Human Religions No Place.

Writing Only Leads To More Writing.

Is Suffering So Very Serious? ...i'm Referring To The Kind Of Suffering A Man Inflicts On A Woman Or A Woman On A Man. It's Extremely Painful... Hardly Bearable. But I Very Much Fear That This Sort Of Pain... Is No More Worthy Of Respect Than Old Age Or Illness.