My heart has more rooms than a whorehouse.— Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
One doesn’t know quite what it is that one wants to get off the chest until one’s got it off.
In the great green room, there was a telephone
And a red balloon
And a picture of a cat jumping over the moon…— Margaret Wise Brown, “Goodnight Moon”
Hey, where did we go,
days when the rains came?
Down in the hollow,
playing a new game.
Laughing and a-running, hey, hey,
skipping and a-jumping
in the misty morning fog with
our hearts a-thumping
and you, my brown-eyed girl.— Van Morrison, “Brown-Eyed Girl”
It’s just me throwing myself at you,
romance as usual, us times us.— Alice Fulton, “Claustrophilia”