Make voyages. Attempt them. There's nothing else.

Young, gifted, and destitute.

Oh, Jacques, we're used to each other, we're a pair of captive hawks caught in the same cage, and so we've grown used to each other. That's what passes for love at this dim, shadowy end of the Camino Real.

Since that day, when people have spoken to me of "genius", I have felt the inside pocket to make sure my wallet's still there.

What on earth can you do on this earth but catch at whatever comes near you, with both your fingers, until your fingers are broken?

The name of a person you love is more than language.

Everybody is nothing until you love them.