On that road of the informer, it is always night. I cannot ever inform against anyone without feeling something die within me. I inform without pleasure, because it is necessary.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
There is no pleasure to me without communication: there is not so much as a sprightly thought comes into my mind that it does not grieve me to have produced alone, and that I have no one to tell it to.
As long as one person lives in darkness then it seems to be a responsibility to tell other people.
It's lonely to listen to the pleasure of others, not that I've made a habit of that kind of eavesdropping. There's joy and passion in the next room, in the next bed, but it's not yours.
I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does.
There are nights when you are lucky enough to tap into something about yourself that you are unaware of and can't possibly control, and somehow, at that moment, other people can view it or sense it or feel it.
There's something about the darkness that I find unavoidably intoxicating. The knowledge that other people are sleeping and, therefore, unavailable to ruin my solitude, makes me more peaceful than I am during the day.
No pleasure has any savor for me without communication.
The way I look at it is, if you don't want somebody to know something, don't say it. If you don't want them to see you do something, don't do it.
Cherish that which is within you, and shut off that which is without; for much knowledge is a curse.
I write with a sort of grim determination to deal with things that are hidden and difficult, and this means, I think, that pleasure is out of the question. I would associate this with narcissism anyway, and I would disapprove of it.
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