I love you with all my bruised heart.

Across my life only one word will be written: “waste” – waste of life, waste of talent, waste of enterprise.

Do you think that love has to be requited to be genuine? On the contrary, it thrives on indifference.

The same word passed through three minds, simultaneously, philosophical, fatalistic, the eternal refuge of the Italian: Pazienza...

I don’t like museums; there’s nothing to buy.

Be wicked, be brave, be drunk, be reckless, be dissolute, be despotic, be a suffragette, be anything you like, but for pity’s sake be it to the top of your bent.

You are my lover and I am your mistress and kingdoms and empires and governments have tottered and succumbed before now to that mighty combination.

Across my life only one word will be written: "waste" - waste of life, waste of talent, waste of enterprise.

Across my life only one work will be written: "waste" _ waste of love, waste of talent, waste of enterprise.

...How I adore you and want you. You can't know how much...I love belonging to you-- I glory in it, that you alone have bent me to your will, shattered my self-possession, robbed me of my mystery, and made me yours, so that away from you I am nothing but a useless puppet, an empty husk.