My mother was called to be a shopper the way some women are called to the nunnery,
Reached the edge of the pond. I didn’t know how deep the water was, but that didn’t matter. If a child was in danger, if there was a life to save, I had to attempt it.
Into the École, I was sure he would be excited by the idea of
The business of living can steal away the wonder of life.
Sometimes I think we spend too much time trying to figure out the how of things - the war, man's inhumanity, destiny, genius....one simple kiss that the whole world fits into. All that matters is that...
Politicians are fools and the games they play are fools games.
Patterns, Mr. Tiffany once said, be they found in events, in nature, even in the stars in the firmament, are proof of history repeating itself. If we see randomness, it is only because we don't yet re...
One of the great mysteries, he said, running his finger down my cheek, is what makes two people right for each other.
One and whole, together, the loss and repair belonging to each other, Picasso said. Over time, all paintings are damaged one way or another. A painting cannot survive a long time unscathed.
Once there was a single being, a complete whole, a man and a woman as one entity in paradise. As punishment, they were cleaved apart. And for eternity forced to spend their lives trying to find their...
(S)cents connects us to a past we can't always see, that seems lost but can so easily be conjured up and found.
I’ve just always viewed marriage as a job, and it’s not the job I want for myself in the foreseeable
Is there a secret? Yes. Anaïs Nin and Pauline Réage and Anne Rampling and Erica Jong all knew it. E. L. James knows it.It is the secret behind all of our writing. And our reading. Arousal starts in th...
In your way that I have come to know and appreciate, you did not say anything. You didn't push me to say more. You waited. Your patience is a gift. You trusted our silence.
I think beauty can be a great lie. Sometimes the greatest lie.
Fear stretching out... is how you live 'forever'. You torture the seconds with worry, you anticipate everything that awaits you, you trouble time, and it becomes an agony of isolated, unconnected mome...
Every story begins with a tremble of anticipation. At the start we may have an idea of our point of arrival, but what lies before us and makes us shudder is the journey, for that is all discovery.
But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, mor...
Always love to the point of madness, he said, or else what is the point of love?
