Putting my hand in someone else’s has always been my definition of happiness. Before I fall asleep, often - in that small struggle not to lose consciousness and go into the greater world - often, before I get up the courage to go into the vastness of sleep, I pretend that someone has my hand in theirs, and then I go, go to that enormous absence of form that is sleep. And when even after that I don’t have courage, I dream.

You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.

I write to save someone's life, probably my own

Do you know that hope sometimes consists only of a question without an answer?

Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

How was she to tie herself to a man without permitting him to imprison her? And was there some means of acquiring things without those things possessing her?

Ela acreditava em anjo e, porque acreditava, eles existiam" | "She believed in angels, and, because she believed, they existed