Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
If I could make you stay, I would,’ he shouted. ‘If I had to beat you, chain you, starve you - if I could make you stay, I would.’ He turned back into the room; the wind blew his hair. He shook his finger at me, grotesquely playful. ‘One day, perhaps, you will wish I had.
Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.
Know from whence you came. If you know whence you came, there are absolutely no limitations to where you can go.
Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.
I thought of the people before me who had looked down at the river and gone to sleep beneath it. I wondered about them. I wondered how they had done it-it, the physical act.
I simply wondered about the dead because their days had ended and I did not know how I would get through mine.
It is very nearly impossible to become an educated person in a country so distrustful of the independent mind.
The world is before you, and you need not take it or leave it as it was when you came in.
It does seem - well, difficult - to be at the mercy of some gross, unshaven stranger before you can begin to be yourself.
You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who had ever been alive.