I destroy myself so you can’t.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.
I am running out of words, my thoughts have gone from vocabulary to touch, from touch to wishes, from wishes to sighs; now my very lungs have begun to empty, and I fear that I shall be nothing more than a memory to you.