"...I feel as lonely as a wreck in sea. And I am a wreck indeed. So I confide in myself. In myself? What confidence is there in these lines? There is none. As I read them over I ache in mind to perceive how pretentious, how literary-diary-like they are! In some I have even made style. Yet I suffer none the less. A man may suffer as much in a suit of silks as in a sack or in a torn blanket.
No more."

F.P. (circa 1906)