I'm not ashamed of the bastards. They've got the best of us. Tonight, while I still have the courage, before I succumb to the sentimentality and opium of dreams. Tonight when art is alive in me, and my beautiful thoughts seem clear, and I feel strong and need no one, no one to comfort me. Tonight, when the memory of a man's rough hands warming my flesh is a memory and not an indictment, I will stop wanting you.
Every animal has an unrevealed history, a secret romance, a craven heart.
The birds flock in threes and bond in pairs, leaving odd birds out of ardent affairs. Lovers can't wait for the loser to fail. The perfect lover lives in a windowless room, safe from the harm of doing. The tree releases the flock like leaves. The birds scatter on the ground, hungry thieves.