The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human breath blinding a mirror.
She is suspicious of words. She lives by her senses, by her intuition. We don’t have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds. How are you going to tell about...
Se vive así, cobijado en un mundo delicado, y uno cree que vive. Entonces lee un libro (Lady Chatterley, por ejemplo), o va de viaje, o habla con Richard, y descubre que no vive, que está simplemente...
Over and over again I sail towards joy, which is never in the room with me, but always near me, across the way, like those rooms full of gayety one sees from the street, or the gayety in the street on...
Often, though, the passivity of the woman's role weighs on me, suffocates me. Rather than wait for his pleasure, I would like to take it, to run wild. Is it that which pushes me into lesbianism? It te...
Laughter and tears are not separate experiences, with intervals of rest: they rush out together and it is like walking with a sword between your legs.
In you alone I have found the same swelling of enthusiasm, the same quick rising of the blood, the fullness… Before, I almost used to think there was something wrong. Everybody else seemed to have the...
If a person continues to see only giants, it means he is still looking at the world through the eyes of a child.
If I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses
If I fall asleep, it is because I am overloaded. I sleep because one hour with Henry contains five years of my life, and one phrase, one caress answers the expectations of a hundred nights. When I hea...
I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them.
I walked into a white city. It was a honeycomb of ivory-white cells, streets like ribbons of old ermine. The stone and mortar were mixed with sunlight, with musk and white cotton. I passed by streets...
I suffered from other kinds of pangs. I was prone to the most excessive dreaming, of such intensity and realism that when I awakened I felt I lost an entire universe of legends, myths, figures and cit...
I always have difficulty with people who are not openly warm, expressive. I need a certain sign, a certain invitation.
Henry's recollections of the past, in contrast to Proust, are done while in movement. He may remember his first wife while making love to a whore, or he may remember his very first love while walking...
He worked on small canvases with a touch as light as a cobweb and coloring made of mirages. He lived there, at the bottom of the sea...
He was whispering over and over again the same phrase, You have the body of an angel. It is impossible that such a body should have a sex. You have the body of an angel. The anger swept over Fay like...
Believing in the danger which sprang from objects as well as people, which dress, which shoes, which coat demanded less of her panicked heart and body? For a costume was a challenge too, a discipline,...
Anais: ‘I made a note to ask you why I am obsessed with a few persons only. Why are my devotions so concentrated on a few people? I do not spread out as Henry does.’ Dr. Allendy: 'Yes, exactly, it is...
Also, I do not like the companionship of women. They are petty and personal. They hang on to their mysteries and secrets, they act and pretend. I like the character of men better.