Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.

I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.

All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.

All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.

Death's in the good-bye.

Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.

Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.