To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
We read to know that we are not alone.
We are like a seed patiently waiting in the earth waiting to come up a flower in the gardeners good time up into the real world the real waking. I suppose our whole real life looked back on from there will seem like a drowsy half waking. We are here in the land of dreams the cock-crow is coming.