Only a fool tries to reconstruct a bunch of grapes from a bottle of wine.

August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don't you? 92 degrees even in the shade.

I would eat my way into perdition to taste you.

Know thyself,’ said Socrates. Know thyself,’ said Sappho, ‘and make sure that the Church never finds out.

Sometimes I think of you and I feel giddy. Memory makes me lightheaded, drunk on champagne. All the things we did. And if anyone has said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. That surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shift of recognition. It was worth it. Love is worth it.

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

I like to think the price I paid by being open about my private life helped.