Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to everything.

Nothing retains less of desire in art, in science, than this will to industry, booty, possession.

The clouds were disappearing rapidly, leaving the stars to die. The night dried up.

A game: say something. Close your eyes and say something. Anything, a number, a name. Like this (she closes her eyes): Two, two what? Two women. What do they look like? Wearing black. Where are they? In a park. . . . And then, what are they doing? Try it, it's so easy, why don't you want to play? You know, that's how I talk to myself when I'm alone, I tell myself all kinds of stories. And not only silly stories: actually, I live this way altogether.

Love is when you meet someone who tells you something new about yourself.

Nothing that surrounds us is object, all is subject.

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.