“It must be a little love, - a baby, sort of,It shies away when the cars honk and hiss,But adores the bells on the horse-tram.”

“There’s a monument due me by rank alreadyI’d blow the damn thing up with dynamiteSo strongly I hate every kind of dead thingSo much I adore every kind of life!”

“They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks, Turkish cigarettes and the lassitude that comes from "lass." "No, no, don't," she said, I must wash, quick-quick, Ada must wash; but for yet another immortal moment they stood embraced in the hushed avenue, enjoying as they had never enjoyed before, the "happy-forever" feeling at the end of never-ending fairy tales.”

“The love boat has crashed against the everydayYou and I, we are quitsAnd there is no use listing mutual hurts, sorrows, and pains.”

“On I’ll pass,dragging my huge love behind me.On whatfeverish night, deliria-ridden,by what Goliaths was I begot – I, so bigand by no one needed?”

“Gentle souls!You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently.But can you turn yourselves inside out, like meAnd become just two lips entirely?”

“Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.The Milky Way streams silver through the night. I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegramsI have no cause to wake or trouble you. And, as they say, the incident is closed.Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind. Now you and I are quits. Why bother thenTo balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts. Behold what quiet settles on the world. Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.In hours like these, one rises to address The ages, history, and all creation.”