We know so little about each other. We lie mostly submerged, like ice floes, with our visible social selves projecting only cool and white.

Shall there be womanly times? Or shall we die?

Writing a novel resembles a journey with only the sketchiest of maps.

I wouldn't mind being the lead guitarist in an incredibly successful rock band. However, I don't play the guitar.

A story lives transformed by a gesture not made or a word not spoken

Could it ever be explained, how matter becomes conscious?

Oblivion seemed the only reasonable option.

When its gone, you'll know what a gift love was. you'll suffer like this. So go back and fight to keep it.

Reading groups, readings, breakdowns of book sales all tell the same story: when women stop reading, the novel will be dead.

That love which does not build a foundation on good sense is doomed.

Love doesn't grow at a steady rate, but advances in surges, bolts, wild leaps, and this was one of those.

What is lawful is not always identical to what is right.

He who hesitates is not only lost, but miles from the next exit.

Self-consciousness is the destroyer of erotic joy.

You can tell a lot from a person's nails. When a life starts to unravel, they're among the first to go.

I've never had a moment's doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.

I want to live in a place where strangers rush to help someone in distress.

A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.

True intelligence requires fabulous imagination.