-- The presence of a person is so complete, his absence so final; there seemed to be nothing between the two extremes.
-- If I love you, what business is it of yours?
-- Or, Cocteau's endearing version of Goethe's phrase, "I love you: is that any business of yours?"
-- And again and again I have to remind myself that the whole art of life is to lean on people, to involve oneself with them quite fearlessly and yet -- when the props are kicked away -- remain leaning, as it were, on empty air. Like levitation.
-- My darling. . . . How long is a day in the dark? Or a week? . . . We die, we die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in -- like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. We're the real countries. Not the boundaries drawn on maps, with the names of powerful men. I know you'll come and carry me out into the palace of winds. That's what I've always wanted -- to walk in such a place with you. With friends on Earth, without maps.
Image: Chagall's Song of Solomon