Life is lived on the inside. What's outside doesn't matter.

I suppose that's what happens when you make other people's lives miserable: life gets miserable back at you.

I want my life to be mystifying," she declared, although she didn't know what she meant.

Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair.

Life is lived on the inside. What's outside doesn't matter.

My life was pouring out my feet and seeping through cracks in the floor; yet still I knelt and did not move, for fear she'd let go my hands. Let me stay, I wanted to beg: Please don't make me go.

Words on the page are never prisoners of the page