“I take my spirit and I smash my mirrors,
And now the whole world is here for me to see,
Now I'm searching for my love to be.”

Source: It's Not Easy Bein' Me: A Lifetime of No Respect but Plenty of Sex and Drugs

11 November
Without Dogma (1891)
Context: I love her now beyond all words; she sees it, — she reads it in my eyes, and in my whole manner towards her. When I succeed in cheering her up, or call forth her smiles, I am beside myself with delight. There is at present in my love something of the attachment of the faithful servant who loves his mistress. I often feel as if I ought to humble myself before her, as if my proper place were at her feet. She never can grow ugly, changed, or old to me. I accept everything, agree to everything, and worship her as she is.

How Do You Like Me Now?!, written with Chuck Cannon
Song lyrics, How Do You Like Me Now?! (1999)

Quoted by NPR http://www.npr.org/2016/10/28/499796182/british-comedian-tracey-ullman-brings-celebrity-impersonations-to-hbo in 2016, on what what drives her to do impersonations

Then, written by Chris DuBois, Ashley Gorley, and Brad Paisley.
Song lyrics, American Saturday Night (2009)

"That's Why I Love You" (song)
Song lyrics
Source: Gilbert O'Sullivan, "That's Why I Love You" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zpN5iej40E (song on YouTube)

The Paris Review interview
Context: I see now that when we met, my writing, like hers, left its old path and started to circle and search. To me, of course, she was not only herself — she was America and American literature in person. I don’t know what I was to her. Apart from the more monumental classics — Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, and so on — my background reading was utterly different from hers. But our minds soon became two parts of one operation. We dreamed a lot of shared or complementary dreams. Our telepathy was intrusive. I don’t know whether our verse exchanged much, if we influenced one another that way — not in the early days. Maybe others see that differently. Our methods were not the same. Hers was to collect a heap of vivid objects and good words and make a pattern; the pattern would be projected from somewhere deep inside, from her very distinctly evolved myth. It appears distinctly evolved to a reader now — despite having been totally unconscious to her then. My method was to find a thread end and draw the rest out of a hidden tangle. Her method was more painterly, mine more narrative, perhaps.

Source: Prodigal Summer