myself ... is merely an instrument to connect life and a myth
She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.
It is in the movements of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately.
Ordinary life does not interest me.
The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.
I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.
We do not see the world as it is. We see the word as we are.
The two men who have done the greatest harm to the world are Christ and Columbus. Christ taught us guilt and sacrifice, to live only in the other world, and Columbus discovered America and materialism.
I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness.
Stations and airports are rehearsals for separations by death.
I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .
Mature people relate to each other without the need to merge.
Art is the method of levitation, in order to separate one's self from enslavement by the earth.
Jazz is the music of the body.
Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are.
I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.
Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.
The body is an instrument which only gives off music when it is used as a body. Always an orchestra, and just as music traverses walls, so sensuality traverses the body and reaches up to ecstasy.
Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life.
You can either give negativity power over your life or you can choose happiness instead.
There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.
Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace. I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.
We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.
The fiery moments of passionate experience are the moments of wholeness and totality of the personality.
I either eat too much or starve myself. Sleep for 14 hours or have insomniac nights. Fall in love very hard or hate passionately. I don't know what grey is. I never did.
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