Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.
Thanks again for saving me. Someday, I’ll save you too.
My dear, I think of you always and at night I build myself a warm nest of things I remember and float in your sweetness till morning.
Something may be a sort of fulfillment of yourself, and it may not be great to other people, but it is just as essential to yourself as if it is a great masterpiece.
She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn’t boring.
I don’t want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
Why do we spend years using up our bodies to nurture our minds with experience and find our minds turning then to our exhausted bodies for solace?
I wish I could write a beautiful book to break those hearts that are soon to cease to exist: a book of faith and small neat worlds and of people who live by the philosophies of popular songs.
We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.
Look closer and you’ll see something extraordinary, mystifying, something real and true. We have never been what we seemed.
I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.
I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones.
A vacuum can only exist, I imagine, by the things which enclose it.
All I want to be is very young always and very irresponsible and to feel that my life is my own-to live and be happy and die in my own way to please myself.
By the time a person has achieved years adequate for choosing a direction, the die is cast and the moment has long since passed which determined the future.