Unfortunately The Innocent Are Always

And There, In That Phrase, The Bitterness Leaks Again Out Of My Pen. What A Dull Lifeless Quality This Bitterness Is. If I Could I Would Write With Love, But If I Could Write With Love I Would Be Another Man; I Would Never Have Lost Love.

Sometimes I Get So Tired Of Trying To Convince Him That I Love Him And Shall Love Him For Ever. He Pounces On My Words Like A Barrister And Twists Them. I Know He Is Afraid Of That Desert Which Would Be Around Him If Our Love Were To End, But He Can't Realise That I Feel Exactly The Same. What He Says Aloud, I Say To Myself Silently And Write It Here.

...every Monologue Sooner Or Later Becomes A Discussion.

Of Two Hearts One Is Always Warm And One Is Always Cold: The Cold Heart Is More Precious Than Diamonds: The Warm Heart Has No Value And Is Thrown Away.

Any Man Who Knocks On The Door Of A Brothel Is Looking For God.