Cold, impossible, ahead Lifts the mountain's lovely head Whose white waterfall could bless Travellers in their last distress. - W. H. Auden

Every autobiography is concerned with two characters, a Don Quixote, the Ego, and a Sancho Panza, the Self. […] If the same person were to write his autobiography twice, first in one mode and then in the other, the two accounts would be so different that it would be hard to believe that they referred to the same person. In one he would appear as an obsessed creature, a passionate Knight forever serenading Faith or Beauty, humorless and over-life-size; in the other as coolly detached, full of humor and self-mockery, lacking in a capacity for affection, easily bored and smaller than life-size. As Don Quixote seen by Sancho Panza, he never prays; as Sancho Panza seen by Don Quixote, he never giggles.

Like love we don't know where or why
Like love we cant compel or fly
Like Love we often weep
Like Love we seldom keep

How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.