Love is the mystery of water and a star.

For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.

When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Sonnet XXV Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: I wavered through the streets, among Objects: Nothing mattered or had a name: The world was made of air, which waited. I knew rooms full of ashes, Tunnels where the moon lived, Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost', Questions that insisted in the sand. Everything was empty, dead, mute, Fallen abandoned, and decayed: Inconceivably alien, it all Belonged to someone else - to no one: Till your beauty and your poverty Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.

I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.