I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.

Mood can be as important as sense.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.

Do you like me?” No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.

I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.

Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.