We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

And you wish to be a poet; and you wish to be a lover.

People ask me why I write. I write to find out what I know.

She fell into a deep pool of sticky water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound, which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea.

For love... has two faces; one white, the other black; two bodies; one smooth, the other hairy. It has two hands, two feet, two tails, two, indeed, of every member and each one is the exact opposite of the other. Yet, so strictly are they joined together

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that is must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.

I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.