...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.

I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.

The tulips are too red...they hurt me.