With every fragment of rock that fall from me, I can hear the voice of Marianne Engle. I love you. Aishiteru. Ego amo te. Ti amo. Eg elska pig. Ich liebe dich. It is moving across time, coming to me in every language of the world, and it sounds like pure love.

Perhaps there are just some things you leave behind when you choose a new life.

You'll swoop from incredible highs when you're just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you've accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent

Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

If you listen to the wind very carefully, you'll be able to hear me whisper my love for you.

The urge is always with me to retouch yesterday's canvas with today's paintbrush and cover the things that fill me with regret.

Heaven is an idea constructed by man to help him cope with the fact that life on earth is both brutally short and, paradoxically, far too long.