How mysterious it is, to be in love. For you can be in love with one who knows nothing of you. Perhpas our greatest happinesses spring from such longings-being in love with one who is oblivious of you.

I am always reading or thinking about reading.

The heavenly light you admire is fossil-light, it's the unfathomably distant past you gaze into, stars long extinct

You are writing for your contemporaries - not for Posterity. If you are lucky, your contemporaries will become Posterity.

If I try to summon back his face, the sound of his voice, and the sensation in my stomach like a key turning in a lock when he touched me, I lose everything.

We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, unable to see that here, now, this very moment is sacred; but once it’s gone – its value is incontestable.

My self is all to me. I don't have any need of you.