Your soul staggers? You know well it will not have peace at your compromise.
So here I am, going nowhere for a while, and all because the people I’ve grown to love are all here. And they all need something all the while not knowing what, and we have all been there before, but who here really came alone? Trust, it is not for sensations to live but the right to earn our rest in service. It is the people who can access you, and for whom you make the difficult adjustments and refinements to your character for the better, the better being as benefits only everyone. It is these humans that make deserted islands miserable places to be, and your life in this world as you know it entirely worth living. And when you make them your world, you haven’t any need to travel much I have found, nor have you enough time, or words or anything to show them, but you do.
No Spring will come to whom does not bring it along, nor sleep, whom does not dream.
Not all storms restore thence, but further by thoughts bad and ill deeds fed, stay the bringer, quarrelsome under his own blizzard abiding and spares every mans cottage under a bliss but his own. Stall the outrage gentle heart, or break; into a thousand tiny pieces flung by perspectives chilly after gale, and lost. Do not swell to custom but become. Retire to quietude once in a splendid while, adopt an equable climate. Read a quiet book; how they grand tales contain. Hang the senses upon a soothing ballad and by a candle lit, burrow down, deep into yourself, through the furthermost caverns of you. Find that trembling being, huddled in the dark.