As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
Mood can be as important as sense.
In a dream you are never eighty.
It would be pleasant to be drunk.
Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.
I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.