No Stir Of Air Was There, Not

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

Nothing Ever Becomes Real Till It Is Experienced.

All Clean And Comfortable I Sit Down To Write.

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.