Very often history is a means of denying the past.

I felt like a seed in a pomegranate. Some say that the pomegranate was the real apple of Eve, fruit of the womb, I would eat my way into perdition to taste you.

I looked at my palms trying to see the other life, the parallel life. The point at which my selves broke away and one married a fat man and the other stayed here.

When a woman gives birth her waters break and she pours out the child and the child runs free.

Nobody knows anything about Shakespeare the person. It's all legend, it is all rumor.

The truth is that love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down.

Everyone thinks their own situation most tragic. I am no exception.