I like food, I like stripping vegetables of their skins, I like to have a slim young parsnip under my knife.

one never knows really how things are with other people, they just do always seem more spirited than oneself somehow.

A great artist ... takes what he did not make and makes of it something that only he can make.

My Muse sits forlorn She wishes she had not been born She sits in the cold No word she says is ever told.

But one wants the idea of Death, you know, as something large and unknowable, something that allows a person to stretch himself out. Especially one wants it if one is tired. Or perhaps what one wants is simply a release from sensation, from all consciousness for ever.

Nothing is more wistful than the scent of lilac, nor more robust than its woody stalk, for we must remember that it is a tree as well as a flower, we must try not to forget this.

See the cat at love, rolling with its sweetheart, up and over, with shriek and moan. But if a person comes by, they break away, sit separate upon a fence washing their faces - and might never have met at all.