One degrades oneself sometimes in the effort not to be lonely.

The dead live." "How do they live?" "By love.

He is solid; immovable, iron-willed. He showed me one day his killing bottle. I'm imprisoned in it. Fluttering against the glass. Because I can see through it I still think I can escape. I have hope. But it's all an illusion. A thick round wall of glass.

That was the tragedy. Not that one man had the courage to be evil. But that millions had not the courage to be good.

Ask me to marry you." "Will you marry me?" "No.

There are two kinds of hangover: in one you feel ill and incapable, in the other you feel ill and lucid.

Greece is like a mirror. It makes you suffer. Then you learn.' To live alone?' To live. With what you are.