I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.

Don’t you, when strangers and friends come to call, straighten the cushions, kick the books under the bed and put away the letter you were writing? How many of us want any of us to see us as we really are? Isn’t the mirror hostile enough?

Our broken society is not born out of the triumph of the individual, but out of his effacement. He vanishes, she vanishes, ask them who they are and they will offer you a wallet or a child.

I don't believe in happy endings.

Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid.

I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice.

When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.