This Is In The End The Only

There Are Quite A Number Of People In The Reading-room; But One Is Not Aware Of Them. They Are Inside The Books. They Move, Sometimes, Within The Pages Like Sleepers Turning Over Between Two Dreams. Ah, How Good It Is To Be Among People Who Are Reading.

What Is Needed Is, In The End, Simply This: Solitude, Great Inner Solitude.

Solitude Is Nothing That One Can Choose Or Retrain From. We Are Solitary. We Can Delude Ourselves About This And Act As If It Were Not True. That Is All.

Love Is Like The Measles. The Older You Get It, The Worse The Attack.

All The Soarings Of My Mind Begin In My Blood.