Bakeneko’s most recent Quotables

When love is not madness, it is not love.

I long for him most
during these long moonless nights.
I lie awake, hot,
the growing fires of passion
bursting, blazing in my heart.

Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and
Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;
Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and
Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;
Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,
And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished; Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?

And this eternal longing
can turn a heart to dust.

One way or another, passion makes fools of us all.

The power of a glance... It is in this way that love begins, and in this way only... Nothing is more real than these great shocks which two souls give each other in exchanging this spark.

We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path.

Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers.

Gone - flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun
From the day!
Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

This, then, is the mark of the man, the beard.
By this, he is seen to be a man.
It is older than Eve.
It is the token of the superior nature...
It is therefore unholy to desecrate the symbol of manhood, hairiness.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines,
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.

The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.

Birth and death are doors through which you pass from one dream to another.

A ferocious love wound around
and around me - till it pierced me with its thorns, its sword,
slashing a seared road through my heart...

I am infinitely strange to myself.

I am at my best in illogical, sensuous description.

There is one thing one has to have: either a soul that is cheerful by nature,
or a soul made cheerful by work, love, art, and knowledge.