Language is like drinking from one's own reflection in still water. We only take from it what we are at the time.

I want to do things for people they will never forget. Maybe that’s the best thing I can do in life.

Perhaps we were each allotted only a certain amount of love - enough for only an initial meeting - a serendipitous clumsiness. When it leaves to find others, the difficulty begins because we are faced with our humanness, our past, our very being.

Every moment is the paradox of now or never.

I think living with the absence of someone we love is like living in front of a mountain from which a person - a speck in the distance, on some distance ridge - is perpetually waving.

We touched with a softness that pushed through the skin into memory, like arms plunged into a river - we could feel the weight of each other's stones.

Death is the most sophisticated form of beauty, and the most difficult to accept.