Count me not your friend but the enemy of your enemies.

How the passing of Time tries me,
its double reckoning my duty and my right:
Every day it constructs and ruins me
completing thus my life and my death.

His enemy was time. Or perhaps it was his friend. One never knows for sure.

Good bye, proud world! I'm going home; Thou art not my friend; I am not thine.

Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home: Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.

Look. There’s only one of me, and it’s all I’ve got. I hate seeing myself dissolve and slip and separate so that I’m living in one half, my mind, and I see the other half of me helpless and frantic and driven and I can’t stop it, but I know I’m not really going to be hurt and yet time is so long and even a second goes on and on and I could stand any of it if I could only surrender —

My only enemy is time.

I am not my own light unto myself.

The reason for my starting a diary is that I have no real friend.

Look. There's only one of me, and it's all I've got. I hate seeing myself dissolve and slip and separate so that I'm living in one half, my mind, and I see the other half of me helpless and frantic and driven and I can't stop it, but I know I'm not really going to be hurt and yet time is so long and even a second goes on and on and I could stand any of it if I could only surrender-

I avoided my own friends and acquaintances, yet the loneliness of my existence was insupportable.

I lack myself.

Patience, my friend.
"I'm not your friend. And I'm not patient."

You and I were long friends: you are now my enemy, and I am yours.