How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?

The day I went into physics class it was death.

I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is.

That is salvation. To give of love inside. To keep love of life, no matter what, and give to others. Generously.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and say, 'Ah!' in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't, and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as if I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out.

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.