But the world, in its present state, is no place for princesses.

We never look beyond our assumptions and what's worse, we have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves.

But the world, in its present state, is no place for princesses.

Because beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It's the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you can see both their beauty and their death.

Pastries . . . can only be appreciated to the full extent of their subtlety when they are not eaten to assuage our hunger, when the orgy of their sugary sweetness is not destined to full some primary need but to coat our palate with all the benevolence of the world.

To beauty, all is forgiven, even vulgarity. Intelligence no longer seems an adequate compensation for things.

I know that they're all unhappy because nobody loves the right person the way they should and because they don't understand that it's really their own self that they're mad at.