You alone became the outer surface of my life, the side I never see, and you will be that, the unknown part of me, until I die.

You have to be very fond of men. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they're simply unbearable.

The best way to fill time is to waste it.

I am dead. I have no desire for you. My body no longer wants the one who doesn’t love.

In homosexual love the passion is homosexuality itself. What a homosexual loves, as if it were his lover, his country, his art, his land, is homosexuality.

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

The words emerge from her body without her realizing it, as if she were being visited by the memory of a language long forsaken.