I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.
Remember what the girls from "Sex and the City" think about being single, get to know what Liz Gilbert thinks about broken hearts or Rainer Maria Rilke and Jo Courdert tell you about the relationship to yourself.
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So here is one of my theories on happiness: we cannot know if we have lived a truly happy life until the very end. This view of life and death was reinforced by my close witnessing of the buildup to the death of Philip Gould. Philip was without doubt my closest friend in politics. When he died, I felt like I had lost a limb.
I'm entirely interested in people, and also other creatures and beings, but especially in people, and I tend to read them by emotional field more than anything. So I have a special interest in what they're thinking and who they are and who's hiding behind those eyes and how did he get there, and what's the story, really?