We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.

There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.

Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.

Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?

I am still so naïve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction--every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.