Le bonheur m'obsède à la névrose.

I loved him more than I ever loved anyone in the world. I loved to watch him and to hear him talk, I loved his hands and his face, and when I was with him all my fears were calmed.

I’m still here. I don’t know if it means much. I don’t know if it means anything. But I’m still here, alive, breathing. I didn’t break but I bent. I bent so low my hair touched the floor. So low, it’s a miracle I didn’t snap. So low, but I didn’t break. I didn’t break and I’m still here, wiping the dirt off my hair, wondering why I’m still here.

How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then to rest afterward.

I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.

When is it enough? When can we celebrate us? What must we endure?

J'aime ma solitude, cet espace tranquille où je peux être moi sans témoin. Moi, avec mes nostalgies, mes renoncements, mes compromissions.

I think it’s important to realize you can miss something, but not want it back.

People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones.

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

I think perhaps love comes from finding someone you feel utterly comfortable with, someone who makes you comfortable with yourself. It’s like finding yourself, or maybe it’s like finding the other part of yourself.

I see the sun rise and I see it set again. I do not see you.

One minute I’m becoming myself, the next I’m forgetting how.