I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.

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 am sending back the key that let me into bluebeard's study; because he would make love to me I am sending back the key; in his eye's darkroom I can see my X-rayed heart, dissected body: I am sending back the key that let me into bluebeard s study.

Like a cat I have nine times to die.

I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.