I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.

This form of love is like the pain
of childbirth: so intense
it's hard to remember afterwards,

I wish I didn't have to think about you. You wanted to impress me; well, I'm not impressed, I'm disgusted...You wanted to make damn good and sure I'd never be able to turn over in bed again without feeling that body beside me, not there but tangible, like a leg that's been cut off. Gone but the place still hurts.

The problem with meditating is I generally go to sleep, and that's because I'm doing it wrong.

The young habitually mistake lust for love, they're infested with idealism of all kinds.

The Eskimo has fifty-names for snow because it is important to them; there ought to be as many for love.