Harvey [Weinstein] didn't want to release [MY SON THE FANATIC]; he held it for two years because he wanted a happy ending, although I don't know what that means. Does that mean the taxi driver leaves his wife or doesn't leave his wife? I think it has a happy ending.

What a quality of innocence people have when they don't expect to be harmed.

All the same, my depression and self-hatred, my desire to mutilate myself with broken bottles, my numbness and crying fits, my inability to get out of bed for days and days, the feeling of the world moving in to crush me, went on and on. But I knew I wouldn't go mad, even if that release, that letting-go, was a freedom I desired. I was waiting for myself to heal.

Our lives can only be lived forward and understood backwards. Living a life and understanding it occupy different dimensions.

If jealousy was the vindaloo of love, I'd imagined her tongue burning, and such a fire forcing her to spill her truth.

And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language.

I'm interested in philosophical psychology, people like Nietzsche, Freud, Alcan, Foucault, Derrida.