“I’ve never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life. My worst sorrows have evaporated when I’ve opened the window on to the street of my dreams and forgotten myself in what I saw there. I’ve never aspired to be more than a dreamer. I paid no attention to those who have spoken who have spoken of living. I’ve always belonged to what isn’t where I am and what I could never be. Whatever isn’t mine, no matter how base, has always had poetry to me. The only thing I’ve loved is nothing at all. The only thing I’ve desired is what I couldn’t even imagine. All I asked of life is that it go on by without my feeling it. All I demanded of love is that it never stop being a distant dream. In my own inner landscapes, all of them unreal, I’ve always been attracted to what’s in the distance, and the hazy aqueducts–almost out of sight in my dreamed landscape, a sweetness that enabled me to love them. I am still obsessed with creating a false world, and will be until I die.”

all information you've been told, and all information you've independently discovered has been intended for you to find it

“In the middle of my life it was right to say my desires but they went away. I couldn’t even make them out, not even as dots now in the distance. Yet I see the small lights of winter campfires in the hills— teenagers in love often go there for their first nights—and each yellow-white glow tells me what I can know and admit to knowing, that all I ever wanted was to sit by a fire with someone who wanted me in measure the same to my wanting. To want to make a fire with someone, with you, was all.”

“One must accept the fact that others don’t see what you do.”

Glamour today is essentially a nostalgic category, no matter how some might protest otherwise.