I keep so many journals: my life could become an open book to whomever is fortunate (?) enough to get hold of them. But I take heed of a French philosopher's admonition: Only God knows what will be made use of them when you're gone.
And, so, to the trash box they all go after all pages have been filled up.
There is not much in them, anyway, that may delight the ordinary reader: Only I, in my solemn and not-so-solemn moments, in them.
24 Nov 2003
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