Where The Wild Things Are

Sensitiveness and tenderness; in the sheltered hollows the lemon and orange trees perfumed the air, and from the vastness of the sea emanated an inexhaustible poetry.

“I have always liked to take a breath of the evening, to smell the air, whether it is sweetly scented and balmy with the flowers of midsummer, pungent with the bonfires and leaf-mould of autumn, or crackling cold from frost and snow.”

"One moment longer," whispered solitude and the summer moon, "stay with us: all is truly quiet now."

Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue.

Cosmos unknown – or yet unnamed. [...] You are definitely the forbidden woman.

It was as if a hurricane touched me, full of noise and random force. Then I was there! I felt myself shudder all over. The flesh of my face hurt a little, but what did that matter! I looked down into her eyes and I smiled. Beautiful she was, so beautiful. The goddess with her long black plaited hair. Impulsively I took her in my arms and kissed her; kissed her cold lips and felt them yield to me just a little.

I was in her arms in this chilling darkness, in the familiar scent of winter, and her blood was mine again, and it was enslaving me.

I might lose her forever, my fear greater than my desire to touch her. [...] She is my re-occurring dream. She holds onto me, has me under her spell.