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

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.

We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.

We speak of the masculine and the feminine, but they are the wrong labels. It is really more a matter of poetry versus intellectualization.

Pain is something to master, not to wallow in.

Is devotion to others a cover for the hungers and the needs of the self, of which one is ashamed? I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not virtue. It was a disguise.