I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.

For at the hour of death you became a celebrated film star, it is a moment of glory for everyone, when the choral music scales the top notes.

How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?

A horse is freedom so indominable that it becomes useless to imprison it to serve man: it lets itself be domesticated, but with a simple, rebellious toss of the head-shaking its mane like an abundance of free-flowing hair-it shows that its inner nature is always wild, translucent and free.

For one has the right to shout. So, I am shouting.