Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.
Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.
The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.
There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.