Venice, that capital city of dream and intrigue, that double city (one above and seemingly solid, one below, wavering and reflected in the waters), which never disappoints.

Writers are doubters, compulsives, self-flagellants. The torture only stops for brief moments.

Writing has often been accompanied by terror, silences, and then wild bursts of private laughter that suddenly make all the dread seem worthwhile.

Hate generalizes; love is particular.

And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.

Birth is the start of loneliness and loneliness the start of poetry.

The worst thing about jealousy is how low it makes you reach.