He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.

He, who had done more than any human being to draw her out of the caves of her secret, folded life, now threw her down into deeper recesses of fear and doubt. The fall was greater than she had ever known, because she had ventured so far into emotion and had abandoned herself to it.

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

Last night I wept. I wept because the process by which I have become woman was painful. I wept because I was no longer a child with a child's blind faith. I wept because my eyes were opened to reality....I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That means I love humanly. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence.

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

Whenever you do something that is not aligned with the yearning or your soul—you create suffering.

Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.