There are things you will never know about me, things that I do not reveal. It is not that they are so mysterious or evil; some are everyday things, but there will always be certain elements, I think, that the most open man never shares even with his confessor. I believe there are always things that stay between a man and his creator (who is everywhere anyway, so no point in trying to hide things there), and no amount of coaxing (except perhaps literal torture) will bring them out. They are embarrassing things, or things that do not fit in any conversation, polite or intimate — they are things not that we hide them, but no one ever thinks to ask, and we would turn perhaps a red face should the question ever come up. These mundane secrets: I write about them only to remind us that they are present in everyone; but I know that that would not help the matter any if they were for any reason shown in the public light, for we keep some things only to ourselves, that none should trespass so deeply, and our own stays solely our own.
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