“When does real love begin? At first it was a fire, eclipses, short circuits, lightning and fireworks; the incense, hammocks, drugs, wines, perfumes; then spasm and honey, fever, fatigue, warmth, currents of liquid fire, feast and orgies; then dreams, visions, candlelight, flowers, pictures; then images out of the past, fairy tales, stories, then pages out of a book, a poem; then laughter, then chastity. At what moment does the knife wound sink so deep that the flesh begins to weep with love? At first power, power, then the wound, and love, and love and fears, and the loss of the self, and the gift, and slavery. At first I ruled, loved less; then more, then slavery. Slavery to his image, his odor, the craving, the hunger, the thirst, the obsession.”

“Why don’t you tell me that ‘if the girl had been worth having, she’d have waited for you’? No, sir, the girl really worth having won’t wait for anybody.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

“but she did look back, and i love her for that, because it was so human. so she was turned to a pillar of salt. so it goes. people aren’t supposed to look back. i’m certainly not going to do it anymore.”

slaughter house five, vonnegut

are you going to scarborough fair? parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.