Old love, middle love, the kind of love that knows itself and knows that nothing lasts, is a desperate shared wildness.
Louise ErdrichHe despised his body for its boring hungers, reflex anger; its petty, obliterating rage. But now he'd become detached. He regarded his body with a tender regret. It was the thing his spirit had to haul.
Louise ErdrichDon't read anything except what destroys the insulation between yourself and your experience.
Louise Erdrich