O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.

When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flown at it to hold it back from flight.

And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.

In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation.

My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.

Lord, heap miseries upon us yet entwine our arts with laughters low.

(...) You cruel creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.