I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.

Children are the closest we have to wisdom and they become adults the moment that final drop of everything mysterious is strained from them.

Where are people going? I wonder what they hope will happen and what they are afraid of? For me it's the same thing and has to do with being loved.

Succes is really nothing more than the record of failure. To be successful means you must be willing to fail more than anyone else.

Sometimes, language is the sound of longing

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.

Love is also a violence, and cannot be undone.