All of my creation is an effort to weave a web of connection with the world: I am always weaving it because it was once broken.

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

There is a fissure in my vision and madness will always rush through.

The theme of the diary is always the personal, but it does not mean only a personal story: it means a personal relationship to all things and people. The personal, if it is deep enough, becomes universal, mythical, symbolic; I never generalize, intellectualise. I see, I hear, I feel. These are my primitive elements of discovery. Music, dance, poetry and painting are the channels for emotion. It is through them that experience penetrates our bloodstream.

When I first met him, he did not care if a friend did not fit into his world, because at that time his world had not been born yet.

I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.

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.