Everybody wants attention, more or less. I just want a lot.

My hunger and curiosity drive me forward in all directions at once.

Let's face it: I want it all — just like you and everybody else. It may not be in the cards, but the prospect is so dazzling that I have to try.

I saw him open his mouth wide. . . as though he had wanted to swallow all the air, all the earth, all the men before him.

I want all my senses engaged. Let me absorb the world's variety and uniqueness.

I want it all, I want it all for myself.

I want to be everywhere of you.

We come crawling through these cracks, orphans, lobotomies; if you ask me what I want, I'll tell you. I want everything. Whole rotten world come down and break. Let me spread my legs.

I want to put everything in my mouth.

A big enough artist, I say, can eat anything, must eat everything and then alchemize it. Only the feeble writer is afraid of expansion.

An artist should be open on all sides to every kind of light and darkness.

All my ways of being are musical and mysterious.
Yet I embrace you openly.
Ripe with expectancy.

I'll eat you up!

My love wants to incorporate her totally, to eat her. My love is selfish.