I'm awaiting a lover. I have to be rent and pulled apart and live according to the demons and the imagination in me. I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

The struggle to emerge out of the past, clean of memories; the inadequacy of our hearts to cut life into separate and final portions; the pain of this constant ambivalence and interrelation of emotions; the hunger for frontiers against which we might learn as upon closed doors before we proceed forward; the struggle against diffusion, new beginnings, against finality in acts without finality or end, in our cursedly repercussive being.

Since desire always goes towards that which is our direct opposite, it forces us to love that which will make us suffer.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.

perhaps the only magician we have is the artist.

gold never comes to the dreamers - except in dreams.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we ... believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.