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i enjoyed myself more with him than i should have done by myself. a pleasure which is for me alone has little effect on me and is very short-lived. it is for myself and my friends that i read, reflect, write, meditate, listen, look, and feel.

in their absence my devotion refers everything to them. i think constantly of their happiness. if i am struck by a fine phrase, they will know about it. if i come across a stroke of wit, i promise myself i will tell them about it. if i have some delightful scene before my eyes, i automatically start to imagine how i shall describe it to them, and that is perhaps why everything gets a little exaggerated and embellished in what i think and say. they sometimes reproach me for it: how ungrateful they are!

I should have started the lawnmower when they did that.