Desire Doubled Is Love And Love Doubled

To Be Running Breathlessly, But Not Yet Arrived, Is Itself Delightful, A Suspended Moment Of Living Hope.

Give Me A World, You Have Taken The World I Was.

Pleasure And Pain At Once Register Upon The Lover, Inasmuch As The Desirability Of The Love Object Derives, In Part, From Its Lack. To Whom Is It Lacking? To The Lover. If We Follow The Trajectory Of Eros We Consistently Find It Tracing Out This Same Route: It Moves Out From The Lover Toward The Beloved, Then Ricochets Back To The Lover Himself And The Hole In Him, Unnoticed Before. Who Is The Subject Of Most Love Poems? Not The Beloved. It Is That Hole.

He Was Trying To Fit This Herakles Onto The One He Knew.

The Self Forms At The Edge Of Desire, And A Science Of Self Arises In The Effort To Leave That Self Behind.