All My Life, My Heart Has Yearned

What’s The Good Of These Great Fragile Fits Of Enthusiasm, These Jaded Jumps Of Joys? We Know Nothing Anymore, But The Dead Stars; We Gaze At Their Faces; And We Gasp With Pleasure. Our Mouths Are Dry As The Lost Beaches, And Our Eyes Turn Aimlessly And Without Hope. Now All That Remain Are These Cafés Where We Meet To Drink These Cool Drinks, These Diluted Spirits, And The Tables Are Stickier Than The Pavements Where Our Shadows Of The Day Before Have Fallen.

Nothing That Surrounds Us Is Object, All Is Subject.

Words Have Finished Flirting. Now They Are Making Love.

In The World We Live In Everything Militates In Favor Of Things That Have Not Yet Happened, Of Things That Will Never Happen Again.

What One Hides Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Finds. And What One Hides From Oneself Is Worth Neither More Nor Less Than What One Allows Others To Find.