Why should I share you? Why don’t you get rid of someone else for a change?

O my enormous piano, you are not like being outdoors.

I dislike a great deal of contemporary poetry – all of the past you read is usually quite great – but it is a useful thorn to have in one’s side.

And don’t worry about your lineage poetic or natural.

You are the sick prince of my cerise innovations and in your drowning caresses I walk the sea.

In retrospect, the saddest moment of one’s life would seem to be that in which one first became aware that sensibility must be protected by intelligence if it is to survive living. It is that realization that puts the bloodshed into adolescence. And the lack of that realization makes the rest of life a bloodshed.

I loved her fright, which was against me into the air! and the diamond white of her forelock which seemed to smart with thoughts as my heart smarted with life! and she’d toss her head with the pain and paw the air and champ the bit, as if I were Endymion and she, moon-like, hated to love me.

I’ve got to get out of here. I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest suntans. I’ll be back, I’ll re-emerge, defeated, from the valley; you don’t want me to go where you go, so I go where you don’t want me to.

I seem to be defying fate, or am I avoiding it?

I have been to lots of parties and acted perfectly disgraceful but I never actually collapsed oh Lana Turner we love you get up.