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

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

Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

That she had so completely recovered her sanity was a source of sadness to her. One should never be cured of one's passion.

Banality is sometimes striking.

Finding yourself in a hole, at the bottom of a hole, in almost total solitude, and discovering that only writing can save you. To be without the slightest subject for a book, the slightest idea for a book, is to find yourself, once again, before a book. A vast emptiness. A possible book. Before nothing. Before something like living, naked writing, like something terrible, terrible to overcome.

You are what you are and that fascinates me.