I inhabit the wax image of myself, a doll's body. Sickness begins here; I am a dartboard for witches.

I must say what I admire most is the person who masters an area of practical experience, and can teach me something. I mean, my local midwife has taught me how to keep bees. Well, she can't understand anything I write. And I find myself liking her, may I say, more than most poets. And among my friends I find people who know all about boats or know all about certain sports, or how to cut somebody open and remove an organ. I'm fascinated by this mastery of the practical.

And there's the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.

Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?

Then I thought, "No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.

When you are insane, you are busy being insane-all the time ... when I was crazy, that was all I was.

The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B. Once you were beautiful.