From this point on, she whispered, we will either find or lose our souls.

We all have an old knot in the heart we wish to untie.

Meanwhile with the help of an anecdote I fell in love. Words caravaggio. They have a power.

I love the performance of a craft, whether it is modest or mean-spirited, yet I walk away when discussions of it begin - as if one should ask a gravedigger what brand of shovel he uses or whether he prefers to work at noon or in moonlight. I am interested only in the care taken, and those secret rehearsals behind it. Even if I do not understand fully what is taking place.

If she were a writer she would collect her pencils and notebooks and favourite cat and write in bed. Strangers and lovers would never get past the locked door.

There was always, he thought, this pleasure ahead of him, an ace of joy up his sleeve so he could say you can do anything to me, take everything away, put me in prison, but I will know [her] when we are old.

You don't want to write your own opinion, you don't want to just represent yourself, but represent yourself through someone else.