I must fight with my weapons. Not his. Not selfishness and brutality and shame and resentment.

That is the great distinction between the sexes. Men see objects, women see the relationships between objects.

Like all mystics (and many novelists, not least the present one) he is baffled, a child, before the real now; far happier out of it, in a narrative past or a prophetic future, locked inside that weird tence grammar does not allow, the imaginary present.

The pronoun is one of the most terrifying masks man has invented.

Liking other people is an illusion we have to cherish in ourselves if we are to live in society.

If you forget everything else about me, please remember this. I walked down that street and I never looked back and I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I shall hate you for ever for today.

We all write poems; it is simply that poets are the ones who write in words.