In that house, you will find my heart. You must break in, Henri, and get it back for me.' Was she mad? We had been talking figuratively. Her heart was in her body like mine. I tried to explain this to her, but she took my hand and put it against her chest. Feel for yourself.

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.

There's no such thing as autobiography, there's only art and lies

...there are two kinds of writing: the one you write and the one that writes you.

Fragile creatures of a small blue planet, surrounded by light years of silent space.

If we had the courage to love we would not so value these acts of war.

To create was a fundament, to appreciate, a supplement.