Sometimes I Think Of Paris Not As

I See Myself Wrapped In Lies, Which Do Not Seem To Penetrate My Soul, As If They Are Not Really A Part Of Me. They Are Like Costumes.

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source.

Convalescence. Such An Utter Weakness That You Lie Like An Animal Hibernating, Playing Possum. You Float. You Are Adrift. Every Current Is Stronger Than You.

My Ideas Usually Come Not At My Desk Writing But In The Midst Of Living.

He Was Jealous Of Her Future, And She Of His Past.