There Is A Diabolical Streak In Me,

Nothing Comes At All -- Never Anything. And I Cannot Accustom Myself To That. It Is This Monotony, This Absolute Fixity In Life, That Is The Hardest Thing For Me To Endure. I Should Like To Go Away From Here. Go Away? But Where And How? I Do Not Know, And I Stay.

Nature’s Constantly Screaming With All Its Shapes And Scents: Love Each Other! Love Each Other! Do As The Flowers. There’s Only Love.

Come Now, Don't Make Such A Funeral Face. It Isn't Dying That's Sad; It's Living When You're Not Happy.

As Soon As I Find Myself In The Presence Of A Rich Man, I Cannot Help Looking Upon Him As An Exceptional And Beautiful Being, As A Sort Of Marvellous Divinity, And, In Spite Of Myself, Surmounting My Will And My Reason, I Feel Rising, From The Depths Of My Being, Toward This Rich Man, Who Is Very Often An Imbecile, And Sometimes A Murderer, Something Like An Incense Of Admiration. Is It Not Stupid? And Why? Why?

Woman Possesses The Cosmic Force Of An Element, An Invincible Force Of Destruction, Like Nature's. She Is, In Herself Alone, All Nature! Being The Matrix Of Life, She Is By That Very Fact The Matrix Of Death - Since It Is From Death That Life Is Perpetually Reborn, And Since To Annihilate Death Would Be To Kill Life At Its Only Fertile Source.