All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so.

Words without experience are meaningless.

Those Eggheadsareterrible Philistines. A realgood head is not oval but round.

but that mimosa grove - the haze of stars, the tingle, the flame, the honey-dew, and the ache remained with me, and that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since." "this then is my story. i have reread it. it has bits of marrow sticking to it, and blood, and beautiful bright-green flies. at this or that twist of it i feel my slippery self eluding me, gliding into deeper and darker waters than i care to probe.

I think she always nursed a small mad hope.

I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.

My God died young. Theolatry i found Degrading, and its premises, unsound. No free man needs God; but was I free?