She was stung by sharp regret thinking about the sheets and tablecloths, so costly and never used due to excessive regard.

Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains

Even though he was afraid to admit it, when he was with her it seemed it was worth doing all those normal things that normal people do.

People took what they wanted, they clutched at coincidences, the few there were, and made a life from them. . . . Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains.

She hadn't chosen him over all the others. The truth was that she hadn't even thought about anyone else.

The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.

Feeling special is the worst kind of cage a person can build for himself.

Why did you choose to stay here?" (...) "I don't know," he said. "It's as if there's more oxygen here.

Mattia's voice no longer stirred anything in his stomach, but he was aware of the idea of him and always would be, as the only true benchmark for everything that had come afterward.

...finally her hands, so light, holding his head still and catching all his thoughts and imprisoning them there, in the space that no longer existed between them.

Mattia thought that he and Alice were like that, twin primes, alone and lost, close but not close enough to really touch each other.

An artist is merely a tool with which art molds itself.

Who would care to question the ground of forgiveness or compassion?

Upper classes are a nation's past the middle-class is its future.

I've tried word processors, but I think I'm too old a dog to use one.

I think all my videos suck.

Now man cannot live without some vision of himself. But still less can he live with a vision that is not true to his inner experience and inner feeling.

If it wasn't for some acci-accidents, then some would never learn.

I guess I've always been an aspiring novelist. I went to Princeton and wrote a novel for my thesis.

Language has not the power to speak what love indites: The soul lies buried in the ink that writes.

I am too much into what I'm doing in my work.