Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.

As an artist, you can never get what you want. What you do never approaches what you want it to be.

this was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces

For she is my love, and other women are but big bodies of flame.

Nobody had forgotten anything here. In Berlin, you had to wrestle with the past, you had to build on the ruins, inside them. It wasn't like America where we scraped the earth clean, thinking we could start again every time.

Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.

I nodded. A man's world. But what did it mean? That men whistled and stared and yelled things at you, and you had to take it, or you get raped or beat up? A man's world meant places men could go but not women. It meant they had more money,and didn't have kids, not the way women did, to look after every second. And it meant that women loved them more than they loved the women, that they could want something with all their hearts, and then not.