undying bond of human fellowship—a thing that is earth-old.
It is beyond me, and it is nothing to me.
In my intensest desires—in my widest longings—I never go beyond self. The ego is the all.
Limitless legions of women and men in weariness and in joy are one. They are killing each other and torturing each other, and going down in sorrow to the dust. But they are one. Their right hands are joined in unseen sympathy and kinship.
But my two hands are apart, and clasped together in an agony of loneliness.
I have read of women who have been strongly, grandly brave. Sometimes I have dreamed that I might be brave. The possibilities of this life are magnificent.
To be saturated with this agony, I say at times, and to bear with it all; not to sink beneath it, but to vanquish
