They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret: what a subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world: where then could we look for reassurance of our identities?
And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.
we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I.
When I'm writing, I never write more than four hours a day.
I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.
I'm scarcely an enfant!