I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and were you less or more you? When and where do the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them — not any.
– Henry Miller, letter to Anais Nin, 1932