wonder, mystery and beauty. I see Me!—
—much more than that, this Me sitting here! my deep gray wanton dark eyes: my lips—like pink flowers—with the inscrutable expression: my white fingers—slim, strong, glossy-nailed, silken at the tips. My glass gives Me back to Me, sitting by it, languid of Body, tense of spirit and Mind, bathed in witcheries of Self—
I love my Mary MacLane! Ah—I love her!
It is good—since I can't find God, since I can't find way-of-truth however I grope about.
Every human friendship I form throws me back more completely on myself.
Whom then shall I love but myself?
I know my own human enchantments and that they never fail me.
I'll know them more! I'll love them more!—I'll love them in sane madness lest mad madness overtake and destroy Me, Soul and bones.
