As For The Men In

Oh, How One Wishes Sometimes To Escape From The Meaningless Dullness Of Human Eloquence, From All Those Sublime Phrases, To Take Refuge In Nature, Apparently So Inarticulate, Or In The Wordlessness Of Long, Grinding Labor, Of Sound Sleep, Of True Music, Or Of A Human Understanding Rendered Speechless By Emotion!

No Deep And Strong Feeling, Such As We May Come Across Here And There In The World, Is Unmixed With Compassion. The More We Love, The More The Object Of Our Love Seems To Us To Be A Victim.

When A Great Moment Knocks On The Door Of Your Life, It Is Often No Louder Than The Beating Of Your Heart, And It Is Very Easy To Miss It.

That's Metaphysics, My Dear Fellow. It's Forbidden Me By My Doctor, My Stomach Won't Take It.

Don't Be Upset. Don't Listen To Me. I Only Meant That I Am Jealous Of A Dark, Unconscious Element, Something Irrational, Unfathomable. I Am Jealous Of Your Toilet Articles, Of The Drops Of Sweat On Your Skin, Of The Germs In The Air You Breathe Which Could Get Into Your Blood And Poison You. And I Am Jealous Of Komarovsky, As If He Were An Infectious Disease. Someday He Will Take You Away, Just As Certainly As Death Will Someday Separate Us. I Know This Must Seem Obscure And Confused, But I Can't Say It More Clearly. I Love You Madly, Irrationally, Infinitely.