The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.

The body is amazingly stubborn when it comes to sacrificing itself to the annihilating directions of the mind.

I think I made you up inside my head.

And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die.

If I was going to fall, I would hang on to my small comforts, at least, for as long as I possibly could.

Worse even than your maddening song, your silence.