A Love Thought: I Love You So

The Art Of Living Is The Art Of Knowing How To Believe Lies. The Fearful Thing About It Is That, Not Knowing What Truth May Be, We Can Still Recognize Lies.

What We Desire Is Not To Possess A Woman, But To Be The Only One To Possess Her.

Whatever People May Say, The Fastidious Formal Manner Of The Upper Classes Is Preferable To The Slovenly Easygoing Behaviour Of The Common Middle Class. In Moments Of Crisis, The Former Know How To Act, The Latter Become Uncouth Brutes.

Dawn's Faint Breath Breathes With Your Mouth At The Ends Of Empty Streets. Gray Light Your Eyes, Sweet Drops Of Dawn On Dark Hills. Your Steps And Breath Like The Wind Of Dawn Smother Houses. The City Shudders, Stones Exhale— You Are Life, An Awakening. Star Lost In The Light Of Dawn, Trill Of The Breeze, Warmth, Breath— The Night Is Done. You Are Light And Morning.

For Women, History Does Not Exist. Murasaki, Sappho, And Madame Lafayette Might Be Their Own Contemporaries.