If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.

She looks like a woman who has found it ridiculous to commit herself to a single emotional stance in anything, but must always ride high heavy irony.

O love, how did you get here?

What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

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?

The journey over the bridge had unnerved me. The river water passed me by like an untouched drink. I suspected that even if my mother and brother had not been there I would have made no move to jump.