You know, I write, with ink and parchment. For a penny I’ll scribble you anything you want. From summons, decrees, edicts, warrants, patents of nobility. I’ve even been know to jot down a poem or two if the muse descends.
If I could ask God one thing, it would be to stop the moon. Stop the moon and make this night and your beauty last forever.[to Jocelyn]
It is strange to think I haven’t seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to. I’ll next compete in the city of Paris. I’ll find it empty and in the winter if you’re not there. Hope guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you are gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you.[in a letter to Jocelyn]
I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every last pimple, every last character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.