Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.

In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.

What a joy it is to dance and sing!

A book is simply the container of an idea-like a bottle; what is inside the book is what matters.

She said to the Daisy girl with her big brown eyes: 'I will not have it plain. No. Fancy. It must be fancy!' She meant her future. A moon-daisy dropped to the floor, down from her hair, like a faintly derisive sign from heaven.

His touch both consoles and devastates me; I feel my heart pulse, then wither, naked as a stone on the roaring mattress while the lovely, moony night slides through the window to dapple the flanks of this innocent who makes cages to keep the sweet birds in. Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden, I go back and back to him to have his fingers strip the tattered skin away and clothe me in his dress of water, this garment that drenches me, its slithering odour, its capacity for drowning.

Is not this world an illusion? And yet it fools everybody.