Cold sinks in, there to stay. And people, they'll leave you, sure. There's no return to what was and no way back. There's just emptiness all around, and you in it, like singing up from the bottom of a well, like nothing else, until you harm yourself, until you are a mad dog biting yourself for sympathy. Because there is no relenting.

When women age into their power, no wind can upset them, no hand turn aside their knowledge, no fact can deflect their point of view.

I think she is confused by the way I want her, which is like nobody else. I know this deep down. I want her in a new way, a way she's never been told about.

Death is the least civilized rite of passage.

What men call adventures usually consist of the stoical endurance of appalling daily misery.

Things which do not grow and change are dead things.

Freedom, I found is not only in the running but in the heart, the mind, the hands.