What is love but acceptance of the other, whatever he is.

Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?

He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.

When I don't write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.

The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.

Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.

The core of creation is to summon an image and the power to work with the image.