as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow.

Don't be a fool for the Devil, darling.

And when a strong man is sweet, even Goddesses look down from Mount Olympus.

There are so many books I mean to read, and things I mean to see.

My conscience is killing me, isn't it? And when you're immortal that can be a really long and ignominious death

It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words.

And he would listen, making only a few comments, always sympathetic, so that when I left him I had the distinct impression he had solved everything for me.