I have a superstition about saying too much about what I want to happen, just in case it all disappears, or someone else comes along and beats me to it.
Our first love-letter. . . There is so much to be said, and which no words seems exactly to say - the dread of saying too much is so nicely balanced by the fear of saying too little. Hope borders on presumption, and fear on reproach.
Keep the golden mean between saying too much and too little.
Is it then saying too much if I say, that man by thinking only becomes truly man? Take away thought from man's life, and what remains?