Your Body Hurts Me As The World

I Must Get My Soul Back From You; I Am Killing My Flesh Without It.

I Want To Force Myself Again And Again To Leave The Warmth And Security Of Static Situations And Move Into The World Of Growth And Suffering Where The Real Books Are People's Minds And Souls.

My Life Is A Discipline, A Prison: I Live For My Own Work, Without Which I Am Nothing.

I Felt My Lungs Inflate With The Onrush Of Scenery—air, Mountains, Trees, People. I Thought, "this Is What It Is To Be Happy.

I Talk To God But The Sky Is Empty.