Your weak point is the open, vulnerable place where you can always be hurt. Love, in all its aspects, opens the self so fully.

The truth is I am inventing the maybe. I can only make the choices I make, so why torture myself with what I might have done, when all I can handle is what I have done? The Maybe Islands are hostile to human life.

I felt like a thief with a bagful of stolen glances.

Love, they say, enslaves and passion is a demon and many have been lost for love. I know this is true, but I know too that without love we grope the tunnels of our lives and never see the sun. When I fell in love it was as though I looked into a mirror for the first time and saw myself. I lifted my hand in bewilderment and felt my cheeks, my neck. This was me. And when I had looked at myself and grown accustomed to who I was, I was not afraid to hate parts of me because I wanted to be worthy of the mirror bearer.

[Fiction and poetry] are medicines, they're doses, and they heal the rupture that reality makes on the imagination.

I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.

Wherever love is, I want to be, I will follow it as surely as the land-locked salmon finds the sea.