There are books which we read early in life, which sink into our consciousness and seem to disappear without leaving a trace. And then one day we find, in some summing-up of our life and put attitudes towards experience, that their influence has been enormous.

You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars.

I love your silences, they are like mine.

The one who travels like a lover searching for a new passion is suddenly blessed with new eyes, new ears, new senses.

This great handsomeness I took into myself later when he desired me, but I took it as one breathes air, or swallows a snowflake, or yields to the sun.

Each friend represents a world in us.

Descendants of pigeons once fed by Keats, Byron, George Sand, Chopin and many other famous lovers are still being fed, and the sudden sound when they all rise together, frightened away, is like the sound of giant sails flapping.