A dispassionate white sun shone at the summit of the sky. I wanted to hone myself on it till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife.

What did my arms do before they held you?

How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.

I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.

If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.

Your room is not your prison. You are.

I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.