I Find Myself Fascinating.

Love Is A Desire For That Lost Half Of Ourselves.

The Novel Is A Territory Where One Does Not Make Assertions; It Is A Territory Of Play And Of Hypotheses.

The Brain Appears To Possess A Special Area Which We Might Call Poetic Memory And Which Records Everything That Charms Or Touches Us, That Makes Our Lives Beautiful ... Love Begins At The Point When A Woman Enters Her First Word Into Our Poetic Memory.

Those Boobs Of Yours Are Ubiquitous - Like God!

I Feel A Frantic Desire To Free Myself. To Start All Over Again And In Another Way.