“I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.”

“I adore Life. What do all the fools matter and all the stupidity. They do matter but somehow for me they cannot touch the body of Life. Life is marvellous. I want to be deeply rooted in it - to live - to expand - to breathe in it - to rejoice - to share it. To give and to be asked for Love.”

“I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.”

“But, my darling, if you love me,' thought Miss Meadows, 'I don't mind how much it is. Love me as little as you like.”

“I am poor - obscure - just eighteen years of age - with a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.”

“I’d love to tearfully absorb you in every way and I’d love to play with your hair, read your eyes, feel disarmed in your presence. I’d love to experience a seizure of full-silenced tenderness with you and at the same time dwell on your Dionysian idiosyncrasy of red, slightly heated wine, constant passion and chaos; How can I even imprison this desire into mere letters structured together in order to form a coherent meaning? There is no meaning. Darling! Darling! You can flash “meaning” down the toilet if you wish. Still, I’d love to share a life full of richness with you: Richness not in terms of events, incidents, facts or experiences; but richness in terms of a colourful, adventurous, enthusiastically unraveling life. I’d love to lose all privileges of existence as long as I might have a small chance of walking on water with you.”

“This is not a letter but my arms about you for a brief moment.”