The sharp, superficial pain at being spoken to unkindly had obscured the deeper pain, which had not yet turned into something hard and heavy.

Waking in the morning, I had to remember grief all over again. It was sunny, a white winter sun, and that made me sad.

I don't know, I can't know, but I almost did.

But I do not know the people I am crying for anymore. I don't let myself sympathise—I think it would be wrong.

Instantly I remembered everything I hated about him. But it was, in a way, comforting to know that he had not changed at all.

Man had such impenetrable means to stop the outside world from coming in, and so little to stop our inside world from surging out, wrestling any foreign object into submission.