[on Paris:] A City Never Entirely Known,

We Sit On The Kitchen Exchanging These Diabolical Outgrowths Of Overfertile Minds.

We Efface An Hour By Passionate Love, Without Twists, Without Aftertaste. When It Is Finished, It Is Not Finished, We Lie Still In Each Other's Arms Lulled By Our Love, By Tenderness -- Sensuality In Which The Whole Being Can Participate.

I Have No Brakes On...analysis Is For Those Who Are Paralyzed By Life.

There Were Always In Me, Two Women At Least, One Woman Desperate And Bewildered, Who Felt She Was Drowning And Another Who Would Leap Into A Scene, As Upon A Stage, Conceal Her True Emotions Because They Were Weaknesses, Helplessness, Despair, And Present To The World Only A Smile, An Eagerness, Curiosity, Enthusiasm, Interest.

The Richest Source Of Creation Is Feeling, Followed By A Vision Of Its Meaning.