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“Before, as soon as I came home from all sorts of places I would sit down and write in my journal. Now I want to write you, talk with you... I love when you say all that happens is good, it is good. I say all that happens is wonderful. For me it is all symphonic, and I am so aroused by living - god, Henry, in you alone I have found the same swelling of enthusiasm, the same quick rising of the blood, the fullness... Before, I almost used to think there was something wrong. Everybody else seemed to have the brakes on... I never feel the brakes. I overflow. And when I feel your excitement about life flaring, next to mine, then it makes me dizzy.”

“June, you have killed my sincerity too. I will never again know who I am, what I am, what I love, what I want. Your beauty has drowned me, the core of me. You carry away with you a part of me reflected in you. When your beauty struck me, it dissolved me. Deep down, I am not different from you. I dreamed you, I wished for your existence. You are the woman I want to be. I see in you that part of me which is you. I feel compassion for your childish pride, for your trembling unsureness, your dramatization of events, your enhancing of the loves given to you. I surrender my sincerity because if I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madness.”

“Χθες τη νύχτα, έκλαψα. Έκλαψα γιατί ο δρόμος που ακολούθησα για να γίνω γυναίκα ήταν δύσκολος και οδυνηρός... Έκλαψα γιατί δεν μπορούσα να πιστέψω πια και μ' αρέσει να πιστεύω. Αλλά, τώρα, μπορώ ν' αγαπήσω με πάθος, χωρίς όμως πίστη, χωρίς να πιστεύω σε τίποτα. Κι αυτό σημαίνει ότι τώρα μπορώ ν' αγαπήσω ανθρώπινα. Έκλαψα γιατί από τώρα θ' αρχίσω να κλαίω λιγότερο. Έκλαψα, γιατί έχασα την οδύνη και δεν έχω ακόμα συνηθίσει να ζω χωρίς οδύνη.”

“The truth is that this is the only way I can live: in two directions. I need two lives. I am two beings. When I return to Hugo in the evening, to the peace and warmth of the house, I return with deep contentment, as if this was the only condition for me. I bring home to Hugo a whole woman, freed of all 'possessed' fevers, cured of the poison of restlessness and curiosity which used to threaten our marriage, cured through action. Our love lives, because I live. I sustain and feed it. I am loyal to it, in my own way, which cannot be his way. If he ever reads these lines, he must believe me. I am writing calmly, lucidly while waiting for him to come home, as one waits for the chosen lover, the eternal one.”

“Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously. For example now, I hate the bank and everything connected with it. I also hate Dutch paintings, penis-sucking, parties, and cold rainy weather. But I am much more preoccupied with loving.”