And sometimes I believe your relentless analysis of June leaves something out which is your feeling for her beyond knowledge or in spite of knowledge. I often see how you sob over what you destroy how you want to stop and just worship and you do stop and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife like a surgeon.What will you do after you have revealed all there is to know about June Truth. What ferocity in your quest of it. You destroy and you suffer. In some strange way I am not with you I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you. And you the same. We will be stronger for it each of us stronger with our love and our hate. When you caricature and nail down and tear apart I hate you. I want to answer you not with weak or stupid poetry but with a wonder as strong as your reality. I want to fight your surgical knife with all the occult and magical forces of the world.

Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.

What I cannot love I overlook.

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely though when I hate I hate murderously. For example now I hate the bank and everything connected with it. I also hate Dutch paintings penis-sucking parties and cold rainy weather. But I am much more preoccupied with loving.

Last night I wept. I wept because the process by which I have become woman was painful. I wept because I was no longer a child with a childs blind faith. I wept because my eyes were opened to reality....I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That means I love humanly. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence.

Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the womans womb only to gather strength he nourishes himself from this fusion and then he rises and goes into the world into his work into battle into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy completion. Woman may be busy too but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb she is fulfilled each act of love a taking of man within her an act of birth and rebirth of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act to be. But for woman the climax is not in the birth but in the moment man rests inside of her.

Throw your dreams into space like a kite and you do not know what it will bring back a new life a new friend a new love a new country.

Anxiety is loves greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we dont know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness of witherings of tarnishings.

To capture the drama of the unconscious one had to start with the key and the key was the dream. But the novelists task was to pursue this dream to unravel its meaning the goal was to reach the relation of dream to life the suspense was in finding this which led to a deeper significance of our acts.