Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

You walked in, laughing, tears welling confused, mingling in your throat. How can you be so many women to so many people, oh you strange girl?

I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.

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.

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

You have lost all delight in life. Ahead is a large array of blind alleys. You are half-deliberately, half-desperately cutting off your grip on creative life. You are becoming a neuter machine. You cannot love, even if you knew how to begin to love. Every thought is a devil, a hell-if you could do a lot of things over again, ah, how differently you would do them! You want to go home, back to the womb. You watch the world bang door after door in your face, numbly, bitterly. You have forgotten the secret you knew, once, ah, once, of being joyous, of laughing, of opening doors.

I dream too much, work too little.