Let yourself fall in love. If you have not done so already, you are wasting your life.

In America the cohesion was a matter of choice and will. But in Europe it was organic.

Love is the hastening gravitation of spirit towards spirit, and body towards body, in the joy of creation.

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

Sleep seems to hammer out for me the logical conclusions of my vague days, and offer them to me as dreams.

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.

The Aztec gods and goddesses are, as far as we have known anything about them, an unlovely and unlovable lot. In their myths there is no grace or charm, no poetry. Only this perpetual grudge, grudge, grudging, one god grudging another, the gods grudging men their existence, and men grudging the animals. The goddess of love is goddess of dirt and prostitution, a dirt-eater, a horror, without a touch of tenderness.