“Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.”

“I am fond of lovers but I cannot love, I am too far away, am banished.

I wonder if you can understand how horrible, disgusting, and coarse everything has become for me, and above all how disgusting I have become to myself.

“Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.”

“I need a father. I need a mother. I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty.”