The personal, if it is deep enough, becomes universal, mythical, symbolic.

I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.

She was fully, painfully aware that very rarely did midnight strike in two hearts at once, very rarely did midnight arouse two different equal desires, and that any dislocation in this, any indifference, was an indication of disunity, of the difficulties, the impossibilities of fusion between two human beings.

The richest source of creation is feeling, followed by a vision of its meaning.

I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood.

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.

Memory is a great betrayer.