Every Little Bean Must Be

I Want That Quiet Rapture Again. I Want To Feel The Same Powerful, Nameless Urge That I Used To Feel When I Turned To My Books. The Breath Of Desire That Then Arose From The Coloured Backs Of The Books, Shall Fill Me Again, Melt The Heavy, Dead Lump Of Lead That Lies Somewhere In Me And Waken Again The Impatience Of The Future, The Quick Joy In The World Of Thought, It Shall Bring Back Again The Lost Eagerness Of My Youth. I Sit And Wait.

... Clothes Sometimes Gave One More Of A Lift Than Any Philosophic Comforting.

I Am No Longer A Shuddering Speck Of Existence, Alone In The Darkness;--i Belong To Them And They To Me; We All Share The Same Fear And The Same Life...i Could Bury My Face In Them, In These Voices, These Words That Have Saved Me And Will Stand By Me.

I Did Not Want To Think So Much About Her. I Wanted To Take Her As An Unexpected, Delightful Gift, That Had Come And Would Go Again — Nothing More. I Meant Not To Give Room To The Thought That It Could Ever Be More. I Knew Too Well That All Love Has The Desire For Eternity And That Therein Lies Its Eternal Torment. Nothing Lasts. Nothing.

Heaven Has No Favorites