the morning i got up to begin this book i coughed . something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me . i broke the thread which held it and yanked it out . i went back to bed and said: i have just spat out my heart .

there is an instrument called the quena made of human bones . it owes its origin to the worship of an indian for his mistress . when she died he made a flute out of her bones . the quena has a more penetrating, more haunting sound than the ordinary flute .

those who write know the process . i thought of it as i was spitting out my heart .

only i do not wait for my love to die .
– ANAÏS NIN, house of incest