I Take No Pride In Hopeless Longing;

Don't Ever Get Angry At A Man For Stating The Truth.

Our Dearest One. Fear Nothing Of The Forest. There Is No Danger In Solitude. We Have No Need Of Our Brothers. Let Us Forget Their Good And Our Evil, Let Us Forget All Things Save That We Are Together And That There Is Joy As A Bond Between Us. Give Us Your Hand. Look Ahead. It Is Our Own World, Golden One, A Strange, Unknown World, But Our Own.

Did I Feel A Physical Desire For Him? I Did. Was I Moved By A Passion Of My Body? I Was. Have I Experienced The Most Violent Form Of Sensual Pleasure? I Have.

A Chronic Lack Of Pleasure, Of Any Enjoyable, Rewarding Or Stimulating Experiences, Produces A Slow, Gradual, Day-by-day Erosion Of Man's Emotional Vitality, Which He May Ignore Or Repress, But Which Is Recorded By The Relentless Computer Of His Subconscious Mechanism That Registers An Ebbing Flow, Then A Trickle, Then A Few Last Drops Of Fuel--until The Day When His Inner Motor Stops And He Wonders Desperately Why He Has No Desire To Go On, Unable To Find Any Definable Cause Of His Hopeless, Chronic Sense Of Exhaustion.

There Is No Affirmation Without The One Who Affirms. In This Sense, Everything To Which You Grant Your Love Is Yours