To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and at the strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend lifetime trying to learn and understand.

Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them. But they were a part of me. They were my landscape.

When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue. Instead of the world being divided up into Catholics and Protestants or Republicans and Democrats or white men and black men or even men and women, I saw the world divided into people who had slept with somebody and people who hadn’t, and this seemed the only really significant difference between one person and another.

I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

O love, how did you get here?

Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.