memory is to love what the saucer is to the cup.

Darling, I don't want you; I've got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don't want the whole of anyone.... What you want is the whole of me-isn't it, isn't it?-and the whole of me isn't there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don't exist.

Have not all poetic truths been already stated? The essence of a poetic truth is that no statement of it can be final.

I suspect victims; they win in the long run.

Language is a mixture of statement and evocation.

...there must be something she wanted; and that therefore she was no lady.

Silences have a climax, when you have got to speak.