It Is Not A Woman I Want

The Woman From The Depths Of Her Rags, A Waif, A Martyr — Smiled. She Must Have A Divine Heart To Be So Tired And Yet Smile.

I Am More Sensitive Than Other People. Things That Other People Would Not Notice Awaken A Distinct Echo In Me, And In Such Moments Of Lucidity, When I Look At Myself, I See That I Am Alone, All Alone, All Alone.

There Is No Hell, No Inferno Except The Frenzy Of Living.

I See Too Deep And Too Much.

Yes, There Is A Divinity, One From Which We Must Never Turn Aside For The Guidance Of Our Huge Inward Life And Of The Share We Have As Well In The Life Of All Men. It Is Called The Truth.