The very concept of solid ground is a myth. The galaxy itself is adrift.

Imperceptibly, more time passes when I'm not remembering our every moment together, not recreating our every conversation, re-imagining our love-making. It is immeasurably sad.

Comfort is beauty muted by heroin. Sadness is beauty drained by lack of it.

It's not that photography recaptures the world you have been in; more that it creates a new one: photographs are like Post-It Notes reminding us of the deep architectonic forms of space and thought.

Drought brings out the worst in us and it's easy to hate your fellow human beings.

I learnt too late that what is most important to us is always most precious at the moment it occurs, and it is precious in its absolute immediacy and not as some vague confirmation of future directions; since the only certain fact, aside from death, is the flimsiness of everything.

When you think you are in love, you don't want to know about the things that could end it.