Take me with you. I want a doomed love. I want streets at night, wind and rain, no one wondering where I am.

Philip Glass, like [Virginia] Woolf, is more interested in that which continues than he is in that which begins, climaxes, and ends... Glass and Woolf have both broken out of the traditional realm of the story, whether literary or musical, in favor of something more meditative, less neatly delineated, and more true to life. For me, Glass [finds] in three repeated notes something of [a] rapture of sameness.

It's the world, you live in it, even if some boy has made a fool of you.

I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. I was something else altogether. There were so many different ways to be beautiful.

a certain bohemian, good-witch sort of charm

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

People are more than you think they are. And they're less, as well. The trick lies in negotiating your way between the two.