"Detestation of what ?" "Of everything--of life." "Ah that's too much," he laughed--"or too little!" "Too little, precisely"-- she was eager.

"What I hate is myself--when I think that one has to take so much, to be happy, out of the lives of others, and that one isn't happy even then.

One does it to cheat one's self and to stop one's mouth--but that's only at the best for a little.
The wretched self is always there, always making one somehow a fresh anxiety.

What it comes to is that it's not, that it's never, a happiness, any happiness at all, to TAKE.

The only safe thing is to give.