Wine has a drastic, an astringent taste. I cannot help wincing as I drink. Ascent of flowers, radiance and heat, are distilled here to a fiery, yellow liquid. Just behind my shoulder-blades some dry thing, wide-eyed, gently closes, gradually lulls itself to sleep. This is rapture. This is relief.

Speech is an old torn net, through which the fish escape as one casts it over them.

Jealousy ... survives every other passion of mankind.

What does the brain matter compared with the heart?

I see nothing. We may sink and settle on the waves. The sea will drum in my ears. The white petals will be darkened with sea water. They will float for a moment and then sink. Rolling over the waves will shoulder me under. Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.

I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.

The depths of the sea are only water after all.