“Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.”

They went in and out of each other’s minds without any effort.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

Women have burnt like beacons in all the works of all the poets from the beginning of time.

Nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy.

Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can’t use the wrong words.

No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.

He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.

The extraordinary woman depends on the ordinary woman.

I will go down with my colours flying.

Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.

Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.

Love had a thousand shapes.

It was a silly, silly dream, being unhappy.

I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.

I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.