We sit on the kitchen exchanging these diabolical outgrowths of overfertile minds.

I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .

The unknown was my compass. The unknown was my encyclopedia. The unnamed was my science and progress.

I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

Often, though, the passivity of the woman's role weighs on me, suffocates me. Rather than wait for his pleasure, I would like to take it, to run wild. Is it that which pushes me into lesbianism? It terrifies me. Do women act thus? Does June go to Henry when she wants him? Does she mount him? Does she wait for him? He guides my inexperienced hands. It is like a forest fire, to be with him. New places of my body are aroused and burnt. He is incendiary. I leave him in an unquenchable fever.

Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life.

There is a resemblance between men and women, not a contrast. When a man begins to recognize his feeling, the two unite. When men accept the sensitive side of themselves, they come alive.