The world's perverse, but it could be worse.

One could not live without delicacy, but when / I think of love I think of the big, clumsy-looking / hands of my grandmother, each knuckle a knob.

Love' is finding the familiar dear. / 'In love' is to be taken by surprise.

There is no disorder but the heart's.

I bless / all knowledge of love, all ways of publishing it.

The end / of passion / may refashion / a friend.

In politics, arts / no issue's dramatic / nor will 'play' till its heart's / simplified to fanatic.

I knew I was a little different from most demons but nothing says freak of nature like a one-eyed gypsy saying I had a rainbow glow. It just didn't sound complimentary.

We made love outdoorsWithout a roof, I like most, Without stove, to make love, assuming the weather be fair and balmy, and the earth beneath be clean. Our souls intertwined and gushing of dew.

You win, you dirty evil butt-munch. I'll never not let you stay over again. Now let's go back to bed.

I never said you were my friend. I just didn't have the guts to tell you to leave.

I can't give you the sunset, but I can give you the night.

I've never been a hands-on dad. I'm not ashamed to admit it, but you can't run a restaurant and be home for tea at 4:30 and bath and change nappies.

Remember the guy in the 80s walking around with a boombox on his shoulder? Why'd he do that? Because it told a story about who he was. Expressing yourself is big business.

Great endowments often announce themselves in youth in the form of singularity and awkwardness.

He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning.

And when we are writing the life of a woman, we may, it is agreed, waive our demand for action, and substitute love instead. Love, the poet has said, is a woman's whole existence.