You don't want to love - your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren't positive, you're negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you've got a shortage somewhere.

Only the flow matters; live and let live, love and let love. There is no point in love.

Sunday night meant, in the dark, wintry, rainy Midlands ... anywhere where two creatures might stand and squeeze together and spoon.... Spooning was a fine art, whereas kissing and cuddling are calf-processes.

Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of the critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.

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

The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination. Never, never, never could one conceive what love is, beforehand, never. Life can be great-quite god-like. It can be so. God be thanked I have proved it.

If you cut a thing up, of course it will smell. Hence, nothing raises such an infernal stink at last, as human psychology.