I hate men who are afraid of women's strength.

To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard. If one changes internally one should not continue to live with the same objects. They reflect one's mind and psyche of yesterday. I throw away what has no dynamic, living use.

I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

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.

We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person.

The period without the diary remains an ordeal. Every evening I want my diary as one wants opium.