Technically I feel total fluidity in writing. I feel there's nothing technically that I can't do the way a certain sort of pianist feels that. But that doesn't mean it comes easily. It doesn't.

I loved her enough to forget myself, my self pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.

Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.

We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

Oh, I adore to cook. It makes me feel so mindless in a worthwhile way.

If you weren't here, if you could be anywhere you wanted to be, doing anything you wanted to do, where would you be and what would you be doing?

All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.