That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.

All sorts of yayness floods my brain. Love is such a drug.

She had the kind of fingers you want to interlace with your own.

the point is that there are always answers.

We landed, in fact, parallel to a canal, like there were two runways: one for us and one for waterfowl.

I think that it's a universal urge to have our pain not be felt alone and to have our joys not be felt alone.

The urge to make art or contemplate philosophy does not go away when you are sick. Those urges just become transfigured by illness.