Most artists have retired too absolutely; they grow rusty, inflexible to the flow of currents.

Woman does not forget she needs the fecundator, she does not forget that everything that is born of her is planted in her.

There were silences in my head. I could abandon myself completely to the pleasure of multiple relationships, to the beauty of the day, to the joys of the day. It was as if a cancer in me had ceased gnawing me. The cancer of introspection.

The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.

Why do I doubt her? Perhaps she is just very sensitive, and hypersensitive people are false when others doubt them; they waver. And one thinks them insincere. Yet I want to believe her. At the same time it does not seem so very important that she should love me. It is not her role. I am so filled with my love of her. And at the same time I feel that I am dying. Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.

Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.