One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.
Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you
Love had a thousand shapes.
Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.
I am all the time thinking about poetry and fiction and you.
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
Oh and I thought, as i was dressing, how interesting it would be to describe the approach of age, and the gradual coming of death. As people describe love. To note every symptom of failure: but why failure? To treat age as an experience that is different from the others; and to detect every one of the gradual stages towards death which is a tremendous experience, an not as unconscious, at least in its approaches, as death is.
What could be more serious than the love of man for woman, what more commanding, more impressive, bearing in its bosom the seeds of death; at the same time these lovers, these people entering into illusion glittering eyed, must be danced round with mockery, decorated with garlands.
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