It was like I couldn't think of any words. Now I can think of about nine million." "How many words are in the English language?" "Not the point.
Money is for doing things, my love. Don't sit on it like a hen sits on an egg. It doesn't hatch. I should know. I've made enough of it.
To love another another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection , it is a magnificent task...tremendous and foolish and human.
Don't forget, a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.
Love, it is said, is blind, but love is not blind. It is an extra eye, which shows us what is most worthy of regard. To see the best is to see most clearly, and it is the lover's privilege.
I do not believe that to be religious in the best, authentic sense a man has to destroy his love life and mummify himself, body and soul.
This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart, like a present.
Ah! The anguish, the vile rage, the despair Of not being able to express With a shout, an extreme and bitter shout, The bleeding of my heart.
Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy ready-made things in the shops. But since there are no shops where you can buy friends, men no longer have any friends.
I wonder,” he said, “whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one of us may find his own again...
I have always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams...
I think a friend is someone who helps you change for the better. And whether you see them once a day or once a year, if it's a true friend, it doesn't matter.
Style comes from knowing who you are and who you want to be in the world; it does not come from wanting to be somebody else, or wanting to be thinner, shorter, taller, prettier.
When I am alone, I drink my tea with pinkie raised, like a kid playing "tea party." At times, a fancy British accent is involved. Dahling!
All my stupid little thoughts beget stupid little thoughts, rampantly speculating every possible outcome of every possible situation until they're all done to death and none of them could ever be true.
I've never been high. Writing is my drug of choice. You don't ever have to come down from that kind of high, I tell ya. And, best part is, it's free.
Growing up, I used to climb out my window onto the roof and look up at the stars. There, in the quiet, I would write stories inside my head.
I knew it wouldn't last, that the reality would come snaking back in, but for a moment I saw it, the futility of trying to mold love into an expected shape. The foolishness of whining when it didn't fit.
Sometimes the memories seemed too much and I couldn't understand how I'd stayed so calm when these things actually happened, but lost my breath in the shadowy remembrances.
You speak as if this is a good world with a little evil in it. Rubbish. It's a hellish one where the best a man can do is put a little sanity back and look after his own.
This, she thought, was what love and desperation made you do: say things that were better left unsaid, give yourself away in a million little gestures, a thousand little changes of expression.
