Lipton’s Journal/December 8, 1954/18
I advertise to everyone my Lipton’s. It can only mean trouble and yet I persist. Why? I think it may not be necessarily self-destructive. There is a vast appetite in me to go to the end, to experience the particular thing to the full, and against that, against my peculiarly boundless enthusiasm for everyone to explain themselves to everyone, (as if, there, can be brotherhood) considerations like caution have absolutely no reality to me. It is true that the person I’m talking to at a given moment seems more real to me, more “worth-while” than anything else, and so I’m perfectly capable of revealing the most disadvantageous things because of my bounteous faith that to reveal oneself to a person is to take away from them the desire to do one harm. I confess ten times as much to others as others confess to me.