Thought itself needs words. It runs on them like a long wire. And if it loses the habit of words, little by little it becomes shapeless, somber.

We play make believe, pretend to take ourselves and each other seriously--to love each other, hate each other--but then--it isn't true. It isn't true, we don't care at all!

When you want to believe in something, you also have to believe in everything that's necessary for believing in it.

Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.

If we have anything kind to say, any tender sentiment to express, we feel a sense of shame.

There is always a certain peace in being what one is, in being that completely.

When you put a man and a woman together, there are some things they simply have to do. They embrace, they warm each other. All the rest is dead and empty.