He tried to reconstruct the story in his mind, but it kept getting confused, bleeding into itself like watercolors.

Every morning is a battle between the superego and the id, and I am a mere foot soldier with mud and a snooze button on her shield.

I looked at this man and thought: Oh, how we are going to hurt each other.

I have tried to write stories that go into the underworld of myth and bring out life and fire — where the old world looked at a woman alone and immortal and said: she must long to die, I have tried to say: look at her live!

I am freedom and I will eat your heart

Fierce was her needle, and she wore it like a sword.

After love, no one is what they were before.