Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.
Introspection is a devouring monster.
I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.
We efface an hour by passionate love, without twists, without aftertaste. When it is finished, it is not finished, we lie still in each other's arms lulled by our love, by tenderness -- sensuality in which the whole being can participate.
My diary seems to keep me whole.
If I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses