With animal behavior, they're all fine until you introduce some rogue element into the cage, and then they go crazy.

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

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.

Why did I walk so purposefully in a straight line? Where would it take me? He went round and round and we got there all the same.

Unhappiness is selfish, grief is selfish. For whom are the tears?

The most prosaic of us betray a belief in the inward life every time we talk about 'my body' rather than 'I.

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.