... having been breathed out

I want to stay here forever. I want to eat nothing but omelettes and café au lait. I want never to go out. I want to dream about copulations in the night, and write about them in the day, or vice versa, or both at the same time. I want to remember everything, and hope for nothing, and I want to die a hundred years hence, with a volume of Voltaire under my pillow, and the ghost of an erection still lingering between the sheets.