I hope I never become so used to the world that it no longer seems wonderful.
The information I most want is in books not yet written by people not yet born.
Strangely enough, this is the past that somebody in the future is longing to go back to.
Sometimes I need what only you can provide: your absence.
What good is it if you talk in flowers, and they think in pastry?
My first line of defense against reality is called sleep.