So Much In Writing Depends On The

I Refused To Believe That Love Could Take Any Other Form Than Mine: I Measured Love By The Extent Of My Jealousy, And By That Standard Of Course She Could Not Love Me At All.

They Can Print Statistics And Count The Populations In Hundreds Of Thousands, But To Each Man A City Consists Of No More Than A Few Streets, A Few Houses, A Few People. Remove Those Few And A City Exists No Longer Except As A Pain In The Memory, Like A Pain Of An Amputated Leg No Longer There.

So It Always Is: When You Escape To A Desert The Silence Shouts In Your Ear.

So Much In Writing Depends On The Superficiality Of One's Days.

From Childhood I Had Never Believed In Permanence, And Yet I Had Longed For It. Always I Was Afraid Of Losing Happiness. This Month, Next Year...death Was The Only Absolute Value In My World. Lose Life And One Would Lose Nothing Again Forever.