“My heart is beating, and I’m breathing, and nothing anybody has ever done has changed that.”

I am not a hotel room I am home, I am not the whiskey you want I am the water you need, don’t come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me.

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I have to convince half the world’s population that my body is not their bed.

Sometimes I stop myself from saying the words out loud as if leaving my mouth too often might wear them down.

We began with honesty let us end in it too.

If I’m not the love of your life I’ll be your greatest loss instead.

I am a museum full of art but you had your eyes shut.

Other women’s bodies are not our battle grounds.

I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you I left because the longer I stayed the less I loved myself.

Let it go, let it leave, let it happen. Nothing in this world was promised or belonged to you anyway.

I spent the entire night casting spells to bring you back.

Kiss me like I am the center point of gravity and you are falling into me like my soul is the focal point of yours.

If you tried and didn’t end up where you wanted to go that’s still progress.

When you are broken and he has left you do not question whether you were enough, the problem was you were so enough he was not able to carry it.

Who tricked you into believing another person was meant to complete you when the most they can do is a compliment.

The thing about writing is I can’t tell if it’s healing or destroying.

Isn’t it such a tragic thing, when you can see it so clearly but the other person doesn’t?

What one does in one’s art, that is the breath of one’s being. What one does in one’s life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.

I never go to funerals. To me a person is dead when he breathes for the last time. After that, your memories should be personal.

Success is my breathing space. I brought it on myself. I will price it, I will cash it, I can take it or leave it. Loneliness is my hiding place, breastfeeding myself. What more can I say? I have swallowed the bitter pill, I can taste it. Life is real.

Do friends really long to breathe the air of the other?

The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes. Breathing your air, touching your skin, saying goodbye. The last time I felt alive, I was dying.

Makes you wonder. When I left St. Louis, I was making five dollars a night. Now I’m getting $5,000 a week — for saying the same things out loud I used to say under my breath.

The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.

I’m drowning. And the air is nowhere to be found. Yet I pretend to breathe anyway.