Today everything exists to end in a photograph.

To read was precisely to enter another world, which was not the reader's own, and come back refreshed, ready to bear with equanimity the injustices and frustrations of this one. Reading was balm, amusement not incitement.

People robbed of their past seem to make the most fervent picture takers, at home and abroad.

Writing is finally a series of permissions you give yourself to be expressive in certain ways. To leap. To fly. To fail.

One criticizes in others what one recognizes and despises in oneself. For example, an artist who is revolted by another’s ambitiousness.

It's hard not to be afraid. Be less afraid.

It's so effortless to let my loneliness defeat me, make me mold myself to whatever would (in some way - but not wholly) relieve it. I must never forget it... I want sensuality and sensitivity, both... Let me never deny that... I want to err on the side of violence and excess, rather than to underfill my moments.