Insecurity Is The Worst Sense That Lovers

What Have We All Got To Expect That We Allow Ourselves To Be So Lined With Disappointment?

When He Was Young, He Had Thought Love Had Something To Do With Understanding, But With Age He Knew That No Human Being Understood Another. Love Was The Wish To Understand, And Presently With Constant Failure The Wish Died, And Love Died Too Perhaps Or Changed Into This Painful Affection, Loyalty, Pity.

And When We Love Our Sin Then We Are Damned Indeed.

Oh, I’m Not A Berkeleian. I Believe My Back’s Against This Wall. I Believe There’s A Sten Gun Over There.

The Sense Of Unhappiness Is So Much Easier To Convey Than That Of Happiness. In Misery We Seem Aware Of Our Own Existence, Even Though It May Be In The Form Of A Monstrous Egotism: This Pain Of Mine Is Individual, This Nerve That Winces Belongs To Me And To No Other. But Happiness Annihilates Us: We Lose Our Identity.