The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.

To write at the same temperature at which I live I should write nothing but poetry.

The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.

I am a winged creature who is too rarely allowed to use its wings. Ecstasies do not occur often enough.

The impetus to grow and live intensely is so powerful in me I cannot resist it. I will work, I will love my husband, but I will fulfill myself.

We do not see the world as it is. We see the word as we are.

His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.