I like people who possess either deep mastery or deep empathy, but not as much as I like those who possess both.

I see no reason not to write whatever comes to me.

Around you move many seas. It is impossible not to drown a little.

The catalog of emotion that disappears when someone dies, and the degree to which we rely on a few people to record something of what life was to them, is almost too much to bear.

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.

Perhaps all anxiety might derive from a fixation on moments - an inability to accept life as ongoing.

Experience in itself wasn’t enough. The diary was my defense against waking up at the end of my life and realizing I’d missed it.