In this life you have to be your own hero. By that I mean you have to win whatever it is that matters to you by your own strength and in your own way. Like it or not, you are alone in a forest, just like all those fairy tales that begin with a hero who’s usually stupid but somehow brave, or who might be clever, but weak as a straw, and away he goes (don’t worry about the gender), cheered on by nobody, via the castles and the bears, and the old witch and the enchanted stream, and by and by (we hope) he’ll find the treasure.

Confidence and superiority: It's the usual fundamentalist stuff: I've got the truth, and you haven't.

It may be that you are settled in another place it may be that you are happy but the one who took your heart wields final power.

The only selfish life is a timid one.

What would it have meant to be happy? What would it have meant if things had been bright, clear, good between us?

Journalism encourages haste ... and haste is the enemy of art.

It's not the one thing nor the other that leads to madness, but the space in between.