Louise used to say to me, "You keep the Hell out of your work." I have thought much about this. I have felt that the work of art(I am thinking especially of poetry), a kind of dialogue between me and God, must present resolution rather than conflict. The conflict is there, all right, but it is worked through by means of writing the poem. Angry prayers and screaming prayers are unfit for God's ears. So there is Hell in my life but I have kept it out of the work. Now it threatens to wreck what I care for most-to drive me back into a solitude that has, since I have been in love for a year and a half, ceased to be fruitful, become loneliness instead. And now I am trying to master the Hell in my life, to bring all the darkness into the light. It is time, high time, that I grew up.
"How does one grow up?" I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, "By thinking."
"....L'expérience du bonheur, la plus dangeureuse, par ce que tout le bonheur possible augmente notre soif et que la voix de l'amour fait retentir un vide, une solitude." (François Mauriac)