For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.

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

We can best help you to prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.

. . . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude.

what she loved: life, London, this moment of june.

Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed, so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must needs harness itself to pens and brushes and business and politics.