One could laugh at the world better if it didn't mix tender kindliness with its brutality.

How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.

If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.

Nobody can have the soul of me. My mother has had, and nobody can have it again. Nobody can come into my very self again, and breathe me like an atmosphere.

You're always begging things to love you," he said, "as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them--

Creation destroys as it goes, throws down one tree for the rise of another. But ideal mankind would abolish death, multiply itself million upon million, rear up city upon city, save every parasite alive, until the accumulation of mere existence is swollen to a horror.

Necessary, forever necessary, to burn out false shames and smelt the heaviest ore of the body into purity.