“Her eyes are my favorite book to read.”

I am just a star in the space of her memories.

My eyes thread of happiness leads back to you.

You were the hardest lesson I ever had to learn.

It’s hard to breathe when she is not around.

She is the moon covered in the dress of stars.

She is the answer to my every prayer.

Missing you come in waves. Tonight I am just drowning.

She is whisky in a teacup.

The most dangerous drug I know has brown eyes and a heartbeat.

She left the room. I am still talking to her fragrance.

Her voice still echoes in my void heart.

You smell so close when I am drunk in love.

The meaning of life has suddenly appeared in the spark of her eyes.

The stars, they keep talking about you.

Sad birds still sing.

I miss the love I used to see in her eyes.

I was reading Neil Postman’s ‘Amusing Ourselves to Death’. It’s one of my favourites.

A biggest mistake I made when I started doing a talk show was I thought you had to read the books.

A good book is an event in my life.

Books were my window on the world. Growing up at the Elephant and Castle, which was very rough, my paradise was the library.

In books we never find anything but ourselves. Strangely enough, that always gives us great pleasure, and we say the author is a genius.

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?

You can read hundreds of spiritual books, study all kinds of scriptures, but the final truth is an experience in silence.

Someday I hope to write a book where the royalties will pay for the copies I give away.