A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.
Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe. The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass.
It’s no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You’ve got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they’ve got to come. You can’t force them.
One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it, and the journey is always towards the other soul.
A woman unsatisfied must have luxuries. But a woman who loves a man would sleep on a board.
She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would lose herself, become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it.
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