Innocence was gone from all our acts. Our habitual state of rebellion became a serious political crime.

We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.

We see things the way we are, not the way they are.

Experience teaches acceptance of the imperfect as life.

Travel is seeking the lost paradise. It is the supreme illusion of love.

When I cannot bear outer pressures anymore, I begin to put order in my belongings...As if unable to organize and control my life, I seek to exert this on the world of objects.

At first I protested and rebelled against poetry. I was about to deny my poetic worlds. I was doing violence to my illusions with analysis, science, and learning Henry’s language, entering Henry’s world. I wanted to destroy by violence and animalism my tenuous fantasies and illusions and my hypersensitivity. A kind of suicide. The ignominy awakened me. Then June came and answered the cravings of my imagination and saved me. Or perhaps she killed me, for now I am started on a course of madness.