Misery and a nameless nostalgic distress possessed him. He was twenty-three, and oh so agonizingly conscious of the fact.
He sought to counsel and soothe the despairing by pointing to the resigned, and to transform the grief which sees only a pit into the grief with sees a star.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space.
I think if this sorrow had come to me when I was older, it would have broken my spirit beyond repairing. But the angel of forgetfulness has gathered up and carried away much of the misery and all the bitterness of those days.
Grief past weeping. I am hollow, I am a shell. To each of us fate sends the right disease. Mine a disease that eats me out from inside.