We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made of layers, cells, constellations.

If a person continues to see giants, it means he is still looking at the world through the eyes of a child.

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ

Good things happen to those who hustle.

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.

Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.

She was fully, painfully aware that very rarely did midnight strike in two hearts at once, very rarely did midnight arouse two different equal desires, and that any dislocation in this, any indifference, was an indication of disunity, of the difficulties, the impossibilities of fusion between two human beings.