I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.

Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.

I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.

Sometimes I feel so stupid and dull and uncreative that I am amazed when people tell me differently.

There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.

I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.

…'It always has to end, doesn't it? We always have to separate.' 'Yes,' I said. He was insistent, 'But it doesn't always have to be that way. We could be together some day for always.' 'Oh, no,' I told him, wondering if he knew it was all over. 'We keep running till we die. We separate, get further apart, till we are dead.