“All men fear death. It’s a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven’t loved well enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never conquered before, you have conquered a great woman’s heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.
I believe that love that is true and real creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing. And when the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face like some rhino hunters I know or Belmonte, who is truly brave, it is because they love with sufficient passion to push death out of their minds. Until it returns, as it does to all men. And then you must make really good love again. Think about it.”—Ernest Hemingway
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—-and gazed—-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
It’s 3am and I’m wide awake, yet the thought of doing anything outside of my bedroom walls seems exhausting. I find that lately, more than ever, I’d rather spend time alone than with anyone else. Considering my emotional/social needs, I find this somewhat peculiar. Part of me thinks the issue might be a lack of trust; though I’m not quite sure if it’s others that I can’t trust, or if it’s that I can’t trust myself with others. In the past two months I’ve found myself becoming more and more guarded. It’s as if I’ve literally built a wall between myself and everyone else. It’s not that I’m “bottling up my emotions,” it’s more like I’m learning to deal with them on my own. In a way, I kind of enjoy the mysteriousness that comes with this, but I also know that I can’t just go from being an open book to a locked diary without raising suspicion. It isn’t that I’m trying to conceal some big secret, it’s just that I’d rather, for once, keep my personal life personal.