Suddenly, all at once, she knows, knows that he doesn't understand her, that he never will, that he lacks the power to understand such perverseness. And that he can never move fast enough to catch her.

When you wept it was just over yourself and not because of the marvelous impossibility of reaching her through the difference that separates you.

I've forgotten the words with which to tell you. I knew them once, but I've forgotten them, and now I'm talking to you without them.

It's afterwards you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn't necessarily prove that you loved him.

Drinking isn't necessarily the same as wanting to die. But you can't drink without thinking you're killing yourself.

I often think of the image only I can see now, and of which I’ve never spoken. It’s always there, in the same silence, amazing. It’s the only image of myself I like, the only one in which I recognize myself, in which I delight

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