Self-destructive patterns cause as much suffering as outer catastrophes.
Sexual intercourse... a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man's sensual mast.
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through.
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
Write. Write until it stops hurting.
We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.