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"Love's an immigrant, it shows itself in its work.
It works for almost nothing."

The cook grew lost in his village- wow- I begin to walk out of this small cage I didn’t know was a cage-

Gertrude stein- obvious when one asks a question, no need for marks, and commas are servile it’s up to a reader when to stop and take a breath
Brecht- war is like love it always finds a way

“Nothing is more unbearable, once one has it, than freedom.”

You want to ask, am I lonely? Well, of course, lonely as a woman driving across the country day after day, leaving behind mile after mile little towns she might have stopped and lived and died in, lonely.

As in a city where nothing is forbidden
And nothing permanent.

The fact of being separate enters your livelihood like a piece of furniture