I Am A Lover And Have Not

The Machines Men Are So Intent On Making Have Carried Them Very Far From The Old Sweet Things.

In That High Place In The Darkness The Two Oddly Sensitive Human Atoms Held Each Other Tightly And Waited. In The Mind Of Each Was The Same Thought. "i Have Come To This Lonely Place And Here Is This Other," Was The Substance Of The Thing Felt.

I Think That Those Of Us Who Are What Are Called Intellectuals Make A Terrible Mistake In Overvaluing The Yen We Have For The Arts, Books, Etc. There Is A Sweet, Fine Quality In Life That Has Nothing To Do With This, And More And More I Find Myself Valuing Myself With Those People.

I'll Do Something, Get Into Some Kind Of Work Where Talk Don't Count. Maybe I'll Just Be A Mechanic In A Shop. I Don't Know. I Guess I Don't Care Much. I Just Want To Work And Keep Quiet. That's All I've Got In Mind.

Nothing Gives Quite The Satisfaction That Doing Things Brings.