I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.

Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?

When I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.

In one kiss, you'll know all I haven't said.

I should like to sleep like a cat, with all the fur of time, with a tongue rough as flint, with the dry sex of fire; and after speaking to no one, stretch myself over the world, over roofs and landscapes, with a passionate desire to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.