I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source.

There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.

Keeping a Diary all my life helped me to discover some basic elements essential to the vitality of writing.

There is an ugliness in being paid for work one does not like.

I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life.

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer. The dictionary, a new word, a voyage, an encounter, a talk on the street, a book, a phrase learned.