That is what I have always understood to be the essence of anarchism: the conviction that the burden of proof has to be placed on authority$$$ and that it should be dismantled if that burden cannot be met.

The poet advises: 'Read me. Read me again.' He does not always come away unscathed from his page$$$ but like the poor$$$ he knows how to make use of an olive's eternity.

But how nice it is that one can come to know someone just through correspondence$$$ and become really passionate friends.

Why is it that we are so busy with the future? It is not our province; and is there not a criminal interference with Him to whom it belongs$$$ in our feverish$$$ anxious attempts to dispose of it$$$ and in filling it up with shadows of good and evil shaped by our own wild imaginations?

A woman who doesn't wear perfume has no future.

My life didn't please me$$$ so I created my life.

As it is she will probably turn out to be one of these acid-faced virgins that sit behind little desks in public libraries and stamp dates in books.

I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear$$$ as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again.

I don't know why women want any of the things men have when one of the things that women have is men.

In order to be irreplaceacle$$$ one must always be different.