Y. S.

“Naked you are blue like the night in Cuba,
you have vines and stars in your hair,”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the mountains. Near are lakes. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. Aroma rises, a strong hair growth of resin. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles. Under it lies the womancity, nude, white, still, cool, in luxury. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet wine grapes. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.”
― James Joyce

“. . . doesn't it seem odd that Gowing's always coming and Cummings' always going?”
― George Grossmith, The Diary of a Nobody

“Once you drop a mask, you can never wear it again.”
― Ljupka Cvetanova, The New Land