She had lost herself somewhere along the frontier between her inventions, her stories, her fantasies and her true self. The boundaries had become effaced, the tracks lost, she had walked into pure chaos, and not a chaos which carried her like the galloping of romantic riders in operas and legends, but which suddenly revealed the stage props: a papier-mâché horse.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

I can’t let you go now. I want to go places with you; obscure little places, just to be able to say: here I came with her.

I find that life, day by day, is composed of at least one joy, one problem and one sorrow. Then there are the smaller ingredients: you always learn something, whether useful or harmful - that is difficult to analyze until later; you always give something; you alwayou always grow a little in one direction or another.

If you are terribly truthful, the ground will always move from under you, and you will have to shift with the constantly shifting truth.

Compassion for our parents is the true sign of maturity.

Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky