I've known you for years. Everyone says you were beautiful when you were young, but I want to tell you I think you're more beautiful now than then. Rather than your face as a young woman, I prefer your face as it is now. Ravaged.

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

I don't have general views about anything, except social injustice.

In a certain state of mind, all trace of feeling is banished. Whenever I remain silent in a certain way, I don't love you, have you noticed that?

It’s not that you have to achieve anything, it’s that you have to get away from where you are.

A prolonged silence ensues. The reason for the silence is our growing interest one for the other. No one is aware of it, no one yet; no one? am I quite sure?

No other human being, no woman, no poem or music, book or painting can replace alcohol in its power to give man the illusion of real creation.