From a very young age my mother persuaded me that I could write for fun, but I had to have a proper job - very good advice.
Their love was something which coloured the air between them like sunlight.
To be closed from everything, and yet to feel, to think...This is the truth of hell, stripped of its gaudy medievalisms. This loss of contact.
I think if you are an outsider then you are an outsider always.
I'd rather be a freak than a clone.
I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crashing among the hazels and nougatines