You have money, fame, youth, beauty, talent. That's a good start... for feeling good.

Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm

You lose your grip, and then you slip into the Masterpiece.

The troubles came and I saved what I could save. A thread of light, a particle, a wave.

Love is a fire/It burns everyone/It disfigures everyone/It is the world's excuse for being ugly.

[I had a sense of interior panic].Always. I didn't really know what to call it for a long time, but I have a friend in Greece who used that word panic a lot, and I found myself resisting it, until I totally accepted that as a precise description of my interior condition. It was mostly panic from one moment to the next. And nothing much else was going on.

Here's to the few who forgive what you do, and the fewer who don't even care