no connection with the daily world, only with dreams and fantasies.

I think I am a victim of a dream.

I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.

Disrupt the brown crust of the earth and all the sea will rise; the seaanemones will float over my bed, and the dead ships will end their voyages in my garden

I walked slowly at first, and the garden was very soft, and I felt the softness of the garden so acutely, not on the surface of my body, but all through it, the soft warm air and the perfumes penetrated me like needles through every open bleeding pore.

Within her there were storms contrary to the lazy moods of the garden, devastations for which nature had no equivalent.

She lay in the darkness of her white satin bedroom, the mirrors throwing aureoles of false moonlight, the rows of perfume bottles creating false suspended gardens.

I was born without a skin. I dreamed once that I stood naked in a garden and that it was carefully and neatly peeled, like a fruit. Not an inch of skin left on my body. It was all gently pulled off, all of it, and then I was told to walk, to live, to run.

I was amazed to be able to see the sun on the sea, to feel the spring, to renew my love affair with the world.

At sixteen Sabina took moon-baths, first of all because everyone else took sun-baths, and second, she admitted, because she had been told it was dangerous.

I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe.

Loving without knowingness, moving without effort, in the soft current of water and desire, breathing in an ecstasy of dissolution.

This morning I awakened with a profound and desperate desire for you. I have strange dreams. Now you are small and soft and pliable in my arms, now you are powerful and domineering and the leader.

I can kill the desire, but I can’t kill the tenderness, the need to touch you when your eyes are dark, when you are pale.

I suffered from other kinds of pangs. I was prone to the most excessive dreaming

I felt the flow again, the mellowness, a sense of connection with the currents of life. I am in the dream again. Intact, as I was at the beginning of dreaming. It is the dreaming which creates the innocence.

I must warn you, you must handle me delicately: I am covered with a mantle of iridescence as easily destroyed as a dust flower

You're all sensitiveness, you're the flower of everything, you're stylization, the perfume and essence of all things.

Among so many colors, flowers, laces and ribbons, so much silk and tulle that make up the dresses, I must choose a little fairy like material for the day of my 17th birthday, and the only thing I am sure of is the color: blue.

The light from the icicle bushes threw a patina over all objects, and turned them into bouquets of still flowers kept under a glass bell.