You Are Eternity's Hostage A Captive Of

The Writer Is The Faust Of Modern Society, The Only Surviving Individualist In A Mass Age. To His Orthodox Contemporaries He Seems A Semi-madman.

Most People Experience Love, Without Noticing That There Is Anything Remarkable About It.

Don't Be Upset. Don't Listen To Me. I Only Meant That I Am Jealous Of A Dark, Unconscious Element, Something Irrational, Unfathomable. I Am Jealous Of Your Toilet Articles, Of The Drops Of Sweat On Your Skin, Of The Germs In The Air You Breathe Which Could Get Into Your Blood And Poison You. And I Am Jealous Of Komarovsky, As If He Were An Infectious Disease. Someday He Will Take You Away, Just As Certainly As Death Will Someday Separate Us. I Know This Must Seem Obscure And Confused, But I Can't Say It More Clearly. I Love You Madly, Irrationally, Infinitely.

As Before The Collapse, The Setting Sun Brushed The Tiles, Brought Out The Warm Brown Glow On The Wallpaper, And Hung The Shadow Of The Birch On The Wall As If It Were A Woman's Scarf.

It Snowed And Snowed, The Whole World Over, Snow Swept The World From End To End. A Candle Burned On The Table; A Candle Burned.