Acapulco in the sunset seems like a balm; it enters the blood like a drug after one inhalation of the scent of flowers, one glimpse of the bay iridescent like silk, the sunset like the inside of a shell, so much like the flesh of Venus.

I cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.

She walked in the shadow of Rango with a great feeling of being taken out of herself, of having no knowledge of what was happening to her, merely a pervading sense of flow.

One discovers that destiny can be diverted, that one does not have to remain in bondage to the first wax imprint made on childhood sensibilities. Once the deforming mirror has been smashed, there is a possibility of wholeness. There is a possibility of joy.

We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds.

He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.

To lie, of course, is to engender insanity.