I was feeling lonely without her, but the fact that I could feel lonely at all was consolation. Loneliness wasn't such a bad feeling. It was like the stillness of the pin oak after the little birds had flown off.

When I am writing, I do not distinguish between the natural and supernatural. Everything seems real. That is my world, you could say.

Perhaps most people in the world aren’t trying to be free, Kafka. They just think they are. It’s all an illusion. If they really were set free, most people would be in a real pickle. You’d better remember that. People actually prefer not being free?

Not everything was lost in the flow of time

Waves of thought are stirring. In a twilight corner of her consciousness, one tiny fragment and another tiny fragment call out wordlessly to eachother, their spreading ripples intermingling.

It's because of you when I'm in bed in the morning that I can wind my spring and tell myself I have to live another good day.

Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment.