Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Balance is not to be sought by association with others; it must exist within one's self.

I had a feeling that Pandora's box contained the mysteries of woman's sensuality, so different from a man's and for which man's language was so inadequate. The language of sex had yet to be invented. The language of the senses was yet to be explored.

What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

All of my creation is an effort to weave a web of connection with the world: I am always weaving it because it was once broken.

If I fall asleep, it is because I am overloaded. I sleep because one hour with Henry contains five years of my life, and one phrase, one caress answers the expectations of a hundred nights. When I hear him laugh, I say, "I have heard Rabelais.". And I swallow his laughter like bread and wine.