All you got is two bottles, one nearly full, one nearly empty.”

If you had a bugle here, he told himself, you could speak to her and be understood, you could play Fatigue Call for her, with its tiredness, its heavy belly going out to sweep somebody else's streets when it would rather stay home and sleep, she would understand it then.īut you havent got a bugle, himself said, not here nor any other place. And that he is always looking for the way in which he can expose his sealed bee cell and reach the other airtight cells with which he is connected in the waxy comb.Īnd the only way he had ever found, the only code, the only language by which he could speak and be heard by other men, could communicate himself, was with a bugle. Because the only part of any man that he can ever touch or understand is that part of himself he recognises in him. And that the whole conception had been written wrong. Love was not to give oneself, but find oneself, describe oneself. Īnd it seemed to him then that every human was always looking for himself, in bars, in railway trains, in offices, in mirrors, in love, especially in love, for the self of him that is there, someplace, in every other human.

And yet, he thought, they are always trying to find themselves in you. “And the strange thing was he had never loved her more than in that moment, because at that moment she had become himself.īut thats not love, he thought, thats not what she wants, not what any of them want, they do not want you to find yourself in them, they want instead that you should lose yourself in them.

James jones from here to eternity