You can feel that he wants to own you - not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep having. He lets you know that you already own him.

Time. There seems to be vast quantities of the stuff spooling around me in all directions, everywhere i look. Days and hours. Weeks and minutes. Years. The hard part, ive discovered, is filling it.

Up until that moment, I'd been at the earliest stage of love, when you feel it will turn you into the better person you want to be. Now, his gentle voice and sage advice took me to a later stage: I felt I needed to pretend to be a better person than I was so he'd keep loving me. This was hard because it made me hate him.

You sense that he's dangerous but don't now why - and wonder if it's because he makes you feel safer than you've ever felt.

I feel in some ways I've had a difficult life. And it makes me the kind of writer I am, in what I value, what I respect, what I hold dear.

I don't have any real goals except to follow one good sentence with another... I'm not the kind of writer who has a map.

You can feel that he wants to own you - not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep having. He lets you know that you already own him.