(P)eople’s good intentions can wind up putting us in boxes as confining as coffins.
He looks at one of the pictures for a long time. Then he looks at me. "I'll keep you up here." He taps his temple. "Where you can't get lost.
All night long if you want. We'll tell our secrets to the dark.
In the middle of L.A.'s sunny non-winter, I need to sit in a dark closet to feel right.
I want you to play me like a cello.
When you make such a large withdrawal of happiness, somewhere you'll have to make an equally large deposit. It all goes back to the universal law of equilibrium.