By the age of 9 or 10, I knew that I had to cut my own cloth and make my own way.

Yet it's not for want of future that I'm here, he thought. It's for want of a present.

Home's where you go when you run out of homes.

Life was to be a search, or nothing! But it was the fear that it was nothing that drove me forward. Every encounter was an encounter with myself.

By repetition, each lie becomes an irreversible fact upon which other lies are constructed.

There are moments which are made up of too much stuff for them to be lived at the time they occur.

Power expands through the distribution of secrecy.