Writing is the passageway, the entrance, the exit, the dwelling place of the other in me.

Other-Love is writing's first name.

Meditation needs no results. Meditation can have itself as an end, I meditate without words and on nothingness. What tangles my life is writing.

Everything ends with flowers.

Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment.

Decisive moment: the one when you will be really alone. And it is perhaps this that makes her hesitate: not the void, but the vastness of the solitude. It's as well if you are frightened of solitude. It's a sign that you have come to the moment of your birth.

Writing is the delicate, difficult, and dangerous means of succeeding in avowing the unavowable.