We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already ...
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Sweet words. Gentle deceptive balm. Help, love, to belong together, to come back again— words, sweet words. Nothing but words. How many words existed ...
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There is no guilt in feelings ever.
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The best way to lose a woman was to show her a kind of life that one could offer her for only a few days.
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When we love each other we are immortal and indestructible like the heartbeat and the rain and the wind.
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One lost easiest what one held in one’s arms— never what one left.
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A neat little apartment with a neat little bourgeois life. A neat little security on the edge of the abyss. Do you really see that?
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What comfort there is in the skin of someone you love!
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...and without love, one is a dead man on furlough, nothing but a scrap of paper with a few dates and a chance name on it, and we as well die.
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My healthy blood was powerless to cure the sick blood of my beloved. That was beyond understanding. And so is death.
