The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world.
In dreams the truth is learned that all good works are done in the absence of a caress.
I’m planning a catastrophe.
I wish I could say twelve things at once. I wish I could say all there was to say in one word. I hate all the things that can happen between the beginning of a sentence and the end.
Deprivation is the mother of poetry.
Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.
As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armour themselves against wonder.
A woman watches her body uneasily, as though it were an unreliable ally in the battle for love.