Yes, she felt a perfect animal inside her. The thought of one day setting this animal loose disgusted her. Perhaps for fear of lack of aesthetic. Or dreading a revelation… No, no, she repeated, you mustn’t be afraid to create.

It is curious that I can't say who I am. That is to say, I know it all too well, but I can't say it.

She saw dark, triumphant crimson in herself. What was making her glow so much? Boredom… Yes, in spite of everything there was fire under it, there was fire even when it represented death. Maybe this was the joy of living.

And woman was mystery in itself, she discovered. There was in all of them a quality of raw material, something that might one day define itself but which was never realized, because its real essence was "becoming". Wasn't it precisely through this that the past was united with the future and with all times?

Things were somehow so good that they were in danger of becoming very bad because what is fully mature is very close to rotting