The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world.

Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.

Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.

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.

I had been struck by the analogy between neurosis and romanticism. Romanticism was truly a parallel to neurosis. It demanded of reality an illusory world, love, an absolute which it could never obtain, and thus destroyed itself by the dream.

At first she beckoned and lured one into her world; then, she blurred the passageways, confused all the images, as if to elude detection.

Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.