Most people who are writers go through periods when they can't write.

Yet I will make you all love me and I will punish myself to spite your love.

I'm nobody's daughter now. I'm through with that.

How mysterious it is, to be in love. For you can be in love with one who knows nothing of you. Perhpas our greatest happinesses spring from such longings-being in love with one who is oblivious of you.

You can't deny Eros. Eros wills trike, like lightning. Our human defenses are frail, ludicrous. Like plasterboard houses in a hurricane. Your triumph is in perfect submission. And the god of Eros will flow through you, as Lawrence says, in the 'perfect obliteration of blood consciousness.

In love there are two things - bodies and words.

If food is poetry, is not poetry also food?