It has always been on the written page that the world has come into focus for me.

I always use primary sources, in addition to reading biographies and other materials.

Don't you see what's happened? You wanted to be in love again. To feel that feeling where a man you hardly know gazes into your eyes and seems to be the only human being who ever understood the real you.

How small we humans are. All our scrambling around, trying to buttress ourselves against death. All our efforts to insulate ourselves against uncertainty with codes of behavior and meaningless busyness.

It's wonderful to feel desired. There's a sense of power in it, really.

It's not good to live so much inside oneself. It's a self-imposed exile, really. It makes you different.

In the end, what really matters? Only kindness. Only making somebody a little happier for your presence.