The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers.

I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door."

( A Boy in France : Saturday Evening Post CCXVII, March 31, 1945)

علو الصوت وكثرة الجدال لا تنفعان دائماً في الإقناع, فقد يصمت من حولك لأنك أعلى صوتاً, لكنك لن تخترق عقولهم وإن وصل صوتك عنان السماء.

As much as anything else, it was a stare, not so paradoxically, of a privacy-lover who, once his privacy has been invaded, doesn't quite approve when the invader just gets up and leaves, one-two-three, like that.

I guess I´m too used to sitting in a small room and making
words do a few things. I see enough of humanity at the
racetracks, the supermarkets, gas stations, freeways, cafes,
etc. This can´t be helped. But I feel like kicking myself in
the ass when I go to gatherings, even if the drinks are free.
It never works for me. I´ve got enough clay to play with.
People empty me. I have to get away to refill. I´m what´s best
for me, sitting here slouched, smoking a beedie and watching
this creen flash the words. Seldom do you meet a rare or
interesting person. It´s more than galling, it´s a fucking
constant shock. It´s making a god-damned grouch out of me.
Anybody can be a god-damned grouch and most are. Help!

Introverts live in two worlds: We visit the world of people, but solitude and the inner world will always be our home.