I fell into the books, and left myself there for safekeeping.

He: What’s the matter with you? Me: Nothing. Nothing was slowly clotting my arteries. Nothing slowly numbing my soul. Caught by nothing, saying nothing, nothingness becomes me. When I am nothing they will say surprised in the way that they are forever surprised, "but there was nothing the matter with her.

I don't read reviews because by then it's too late - whatever anyone says, the book won't change. It is written.

We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don't.

The best language is always found in books because it's considered. It's a high language. Sometimes, it is complex and difficult. It's empowering and offers a way to speak about yourself that you don't have if all you are doing is reading the newspaper and watching TV.

There is no discovery without risk and what you risk reveals what you value.

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets?