The future is what matters — because one never reaches it, but always stays in the present — like the White Queen who had to run like the wind to remain in the same spot.

O heart, such disorganization!

The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

Mother of otherness, Eat me.

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

Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?