Women always think that when they have my shoes, my dress, my hairdresser, my makeup, it will all work the same way. They do not conceive of the witchcraft that is needed. They do not know that I am not beautiful but that I only appear to be at certain moments.

Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.

The inner chambers of the soul are like the photographer's darkroom. Like a laboratory. One cannot stay there all the time or it becomes the solitary cell of the neurotic.

Memory is a great betrayer.

Eroticism is one of the basic means of self-knowledge, as indispensable as poetry.