I zipped myself all the way into the sleeping bag of myself, not because I was hurt, and not because I had broken something, but because they were cracking up.

I can only hold on to the things I want to lose.

I am always sad, I think. Perhaps this signifies that I am not sad at all, because sadness is something lower than your normal disposition, and I am always the same thing. Perhaps I am the only person in the world, then, who never becomes sad. Perhaps I am lucky.

Why is taste, the crudest of our senses, exempted from the ethical rules that govern our other senses?

It’s hard to say goodbye to the place you’ve lived. It can be as hard as saying goodbye to a person.

People who want to find a place of rest, want to find an integrated personality, sense of self, want fewer fractures in their lives.

I think it's very pretty. Can it be pretty if no one thinks it's pretty? I think it's pretty. If you're the only one? That's pretty pretty. And what about the boys? Don't you want them to think you're pretty? I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless he was the kind of boy who thought I was pretty.