A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. read more

A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. But, as you will! we'll sit contentedly, and eat our pot of honey on the grave.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.

Love is like the measles. The older you get it, the worse the attack.

Love is like the measles. The older you get it, the worse the attack.

In necessary things, unity; in doubtful things, liberty; in all things, charity.

In necessary things, unity; in doubtful things, liberty; in all things, charity.

What is passion? It is surely the becoming of a person. Are we not, for most of our lives, marking read more

What is passion? It is surely the becoming of a person. Are we not, for most of our lives, marking time? Most of our being is at rest, unlived. In passion, the body and the spirit seek expression outside of self. Passion is all that is other from self. Sex is only interesting when it releases passion. The more extreme and the more expressed that passion is, the more unbearable does life seem without it. It reminds us that if passion dies or is denied, we are partly dead and that soon, come what may, we will be wholly so.

I will tell you the truth as soon as I figure it out.

I will tell you the truth as soon as I figure it out.

He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.

He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.

Strange that the vanity which accompanies beauty --excusable, perhaps, when there is such great beauty, or at any rate understandable read more

Strange that the vanity which accompanies beauty --excusable, perhaps, when there is such great beauty, or at any rate understandable --should persist after the beauty was gone.

It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now read more

It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) --to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a wild fox so ready to bite, the antagonism that sits like a twin beside love, and contrast it with affection, so deeply unrepeatable, of two people who have lived a life together (and of whom one must die) it's the affection I find richer. It's that I would have again. Not all those doubtful rainbow colors.