“I can’t feel a thing; All mournful petal storms are dancing inside the very private spring of my head.”

“I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.”

“I object very much when my work is said to not be political, because my feelings about the social system are in there somewhere. The idea is to have it all in there together—you can’t pull it out.”

“Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn, but you woodlands I mourn not for you!
For spring is returning your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn,
Kind nature the embryo blossom shall save;
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?”

“My heart is a flower, budding, blooming, dripping dew, dropping petals all over the place, making a big hopeless mess, stinking things up, waiting for someone to come flying over and suck the pollen out of me. Suck me dry. 'Til I wilt. 'Til I am nothing. 'Til next spring.”

“I want to turn the whole thing upside down.
I’ll find the things they say just can’t be found.
I’ll share this love I find with everyone.
We’ll sing and dance to mother nature’s songs.
I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

“Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.”

“I think I made you up inside my head.”

“Men have feelings too, you know. You bruise the petals of my manflower.”

“Don't you hear it? She asked & I shook my head no & then she started to dance & suddenly there was music everywhere & it went on for a very long time & when I finally found words all I could say was thank you.”