We three belong to the Middle Ages. We have this need of heroism, and there is no place for such feelings in modern life. That is our tragedy. Once I wanted to be a saint. It seemed the only absolute act left to do, for what is most powerful in me is the craving for purity, greatness.

I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.

When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.

I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.

I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have shared my kingdom with you.

I have no brakes on...analysis is for those who are paralyzed by life.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.