I tried to appear more normal than I was, so that those around me wouldn’t think I was less normal than I was, and that suited them just fine.

The first teacher, the first kiss, and the first crime. I’ve always been hindered by my dislike for repetition. The first time you do anything, it’s creative, but from then on it’s just work.

I don’t even like cemeteries. Morgues, either, nor anatomy museums, undertakers’ parlors, funeral chapels, or any of those places where the world of the living sparks against the world of the dead, and a spot of burned out time fades, diffuse in an ocean of timelessness.

Though a modern woman’s computer is more intimate than her bed...

I drank the dregs of the wine to what remained of my health.I gave the last of my fervor for what remained of my hope.I cannot say for sure that this country is cursed,Honey flows with the milk, and the milk might curdle. Eli7

To me, the café was a morning casino. A casino where I played for my life, staked the dawning day and, like any inveterate gambler, was unfazed by the fact that I lost my slice of sunlight more often than I won it.

With those that you love, it’s more or less understood—there’s often a love-hate duality with no in-between. It’s more complicated with those you are simply ready to love.

The impatient man of courage is like a premature ejaculation.

I imagined/felt their palms sweating, their sweat mingling, mutually fertilized, and dripping to the ground, where it gave birth to a scolopendra, the forked ends of its tail bedecked with the sparkle of drying tears. Their sweat would mingle again at night; the sweat from their bellies would run down into their loins, fill their belly buttons, and glimmer in the moonlight like the tears drying on the scolopendra's tail.