Maybe, love is always forgiveness, to a degree.

Love commingled with hate is more powerful than love. Or hate.

In no other sport is the connection between performer and observer so intimate, so frequently painful, so unresolved

Where there must be a choice, a girl will choose Daddy. Even if you are Mommy, you concede that this must be so: you remember when you were a girl, too.

She wasn't in love but she would love him, if that would save her.

Without craft, art remains private. Without art, craft is merely hackwork.

To the west, the Pacific Ocean, which revulses me, for its vastness cannot be fitted into any box.