She did not speak for speech was unknown to her.

I was the owner of my own darkness.

Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?

I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen.

To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's sweet.

We are dust and to dust return. In the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.