When I cannot write a poem, I bake biscuits and feel just as pleased.

Ideally, both members of a couple in love free each other to new and different worlds.

Beauty cannot disguise nor music melt A pain undiagnosable but felt.

Perhaps I am a bear, or some hibernating animal underneath, for the instinct to be half asleep all winter is so strong in me.

I want to be pure in heart -- but I like to wear my purple dress.

The intellectual is constantly betrayed by his vanity. Godlike he blandly assumes that he can express everything in words; whereas the things one loves, lives, and dies for are not, in the last analysis completely expressible in words.

Frenchwomen just never look ungroomed, do they?