upon it.
You might admonish me by driving a red-hot spike between my two white shoulders: but you could not by that influence my Thoughts—you could not so much as change their current.
I am intently aware of my Mind from moment to moment—all the passing life-moments. The awareness is a troubled power, a heavy burden and a wild enchantment.—
Also what I feel I write.
I am my own law, my own oracle, my own one intimate friend, my own guide though I guide me to dead-walls, my own mentor, my own foe, my own lover.
I am in age one-and-thirty, a smouldering-flamed period which feels the wings of the Youth-bird beating strong and violent for flight—half-ready to fly away.
I am not a charming person. Quite seventy singly-used adjectives would better fit me.
But I have some charm of youth, and a charm of sex, and a charm of intellect and intuition, and some charms of personality.
I have a perfervid appreciation of those things in other persons. And my steel has sometime struck fire from their flint.
But always my steel has turned back drearily yet strongly to itself.
