Again. You are doing this again. Again, you are making me feel as if I could seduce you, love you, lose myself inside your fantastic “I” forever. Again, this desperate aliveness, alertness. And you. Not “you and me” – merely you; this is all you. You are making this happen: you are excelling at this. You are causing this and you are owning this. Volcanic you are – you. Fuck you for that. Thank you for that.
– Henry Miller to Anaïs Nin