Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.

Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.

I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free.

If I didn't think, I'd be much happier; if I didn't have any sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time.

I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.