Everything ends with flowers.

There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat.

Me too, I make do, I anoint what cannot be fixed.

Perhaps what I do not manage to operate rapidly enough is the passage between the outside and the inside.

I am sick of death and worst of all this sickness feeds on itself, the more afraid I am the more I am afraid the more I flee the more I am afraid the more I am haunted.

We must learn to speak the language women speak when there is no one there to correct us.

We must kill the false woman who is preventing the live one from breathing.