I will do some other priestly service, perhaps at the organ, perhaps in another way.
But I must always be surrounded by something which I find beautiful and sacred, organ music and mysteries, symbol and myth,
I need that and cannot persuade myself to leave it—that is my weakness.
I often realize, Sinclair, that I should not have such desires, that they are a luxury and a weakness.
It would be greater, it would be more right, if I placed myself quite simply at the disposition of fate, without pretensions.
That is the sole thing I cannot do. Perhaps you will some time be able to do it.
It is hard, it is the only thing really hard there is, my friend.
I have often dreamed of it, but I cannot do it, I tremble at the thought of it. I cannot stand so completely naked and alone.
I am a poor, weak hound, who needs a little warmth and food, who occasionally likes to feel the proximity of his own kind.
He whose only desire it is to work out his own destiny has no kith or kin, but stands alone and has only the cold world space around him.
Do you know, that is Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane?
There have been martyrs who willingly let themselves be nailed to the cross,
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