There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.
The one thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough is love.
The real enemy can always be met and conquered, or won over. Real antagonism is based on love, a love which has not recognized itself.
The city is loveliest when the sweet death racket begins. Her own life lived in defiance of nature, her electricity, her frigidaires, her soundproof walls, the glint of lacquered nails, the plumes that wave across the corrugated sky. Here in the coffin depths grow the everlasting flowers sent by telegraph.