It Is Not A Bad Thing That

I Am Going Away With Him To An Unknown Country Where I Shall Have No Past And No Name, And Where I Shall Be Born Again With A New Face And An Untried Heart.

By An Image We Hold On To Our Lost Treasures, But It Is The Wrenching Loss That Forms The Image, Composes, Binds The Bouquet.

The True Traveler Is He Who Goes On Foot, And Even Then, He Sits Down A Lot Of The Time.

Chance, My Master And My Friend, Will, I Feel Sure, Deign Once Again To Send Me The Spirits Of His Unruly Kingdom. All My Trust Is Now In Him- And In Myself. But Above All In Him, For When I Go Under He Always Fishes Me Out, Seizing And Shaking Me Like A Life-saving Dog Whose Teeth Tear My Skin A Little Every Time. So Now, Whenever I Despair, I No Longer Expect My End, But Some Bit Of Luck, Some Commonplace Little Miracle Which, Like A Glittering Link, Will Mend Again The Necklace Of My Days.

We Only Do Well The Things We Like Doing.