I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets?

I hated historical novels with fluttering cloaks.

Confidence and superiority: It's the usual fundamentalist stuff: I've got the truth, and you haven't.

...what he told himself on those sea-soaked nights...Others joined in and it was discovered that every light had a story-no, every light was a story. And the flashes themselves were the stories going out over the waves, as markers and guides and comfort and warning.

You had once asked me if I was afraid of death.

I said I was afraid of not living.

I don’t want to eke out my life like a resource in short supply. The only selfish life is a timid one. To hold back, to withdraw, to keep the best in reserve, both overvalues the self, and undervalues what the self is.