One Could Only Damage Oneself Through The

Through The Lack Of Attaching Myself To Words, My Thoughts Remain Nebulous Most Of The Time. They Sketch Vague, Pleasant Shapes And Then Are Swallowed Up; I Forget Them Almost Immediately.

Time Is Too Large, It Can't Be Filled Up. Everything You Plunge Into It Is Stretched And Disintegrates.

To Read A Poem In January Is As Lovely As To Go For A Walk In June

I Have Changed As Everyone Changes: Within A Permanency.

I Think That Is The Big Danger In Keeping A Diary: You Exaggerate Everything.