I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated

My trunk, valises and my mind are overpacked.

I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.

We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.

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

I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles.

Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.