The tectonic layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other that we always come up against earlier events in later ones, not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside, but absolutely present and alive. I understand this. Nevertheless, I sometimes find it hard to bear. Maybe I did write our story to be free of it, even if I never can be.

It is as if people refused to leave their dead alone, forced them back into the light, made them keep their composure even in death.

Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily..

Desires, memories, fears, passions form labyrinths in which we lose and find and then lose ourselves again.