You need imagination in order to imagine a future that doesn't exist.

I am suddenly left alone again on the sunny path, with a memory of the rain.

She was one of those people who are irrevocably, incurably honest and therefore both inflexible and vulnerable at the same time.

I eat my heart out alone.

The dearer a book was to my heart, the more battered and bruised it became.

Memories have ways of becoming independent of the reality they evoke. They can soften us against those we were deeply hurt by or they can make us resent those we once accepted and loved unconditionally.

Reality has become so intolerable, she said, so bleak, that all I can paint now are the colors of my dreams.