The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same

One Realized All Sorts Of Things. The Value Of An Illusion, For Instance, And That The Shadow Can Be More Important Than The Substance. All Sorts Of Things.

And I Saw That All My Life I Had Known That This Was Going To Happen, And That I'd Been Afraid For A Long Time, I'd Been Afraid For A Long Time. There's Fear, Of Course, With Everybody. But Now It Had Grown, It Had Grown Gigantic; It Filled Me And It Filled The Whole World.

Yes, I Am Sad, Sad As A Circus-lioness, Sad As An Eagle Without Wings, Sad As A Violin With Only One String And That One Broken, Sad As A Woman Who Is Growing Old. Sad, Sad, Sad.

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.

...morbidly, Attracted Him To Strangeness, To Recklessnesss, Even Unhappiness.