“I huff and puff and struggle with every sentence, paragraph and page – sometimes every word as well.”

If a boy, if a man, asks you if you’re all right and you say yes, he’ll always believe you and get on with what he wants to do. It’s just the way they’re made.

Fame, money and the size of the market are not very important to me. What is, is writing a book that is worth doing and then publishing it.

I thought how lovely and how strange a river is.

Like just now. Like now. How is it possible? Can you love someone more and more and at the same time, all the time, love them as much as it’s possible to love someone?

There are times when you want to be what you have never allowed yourself to be before.

They should be unchanging in shape and proportions. But sometimes they do change depending on who’s in them.

You have to know your own truth and stick to it. And never despair. Never give up. There’s always hope.

How do I think of you? As someone I want to be with. As someone as young as me, but “older,” if that makes sense. As someone I like to look at, not just because you’re good to look at, but because just looking at you makes me smile and feel happier.

Even if they’re saying your name with dislike, at least you know you’re you, that you exist.

A joy that hurts with sadness a sadness that is pleasurable a pleasure full of terror a terror that excites an excitement that calms a calmness that frightens.

I don’t actually think “true love” is such a good term because love can only be true. If it isn’t true it can’t be love.

Doing anything when you’re bored is very very boring. Anyway, doing nothing is the point of being bored.

Yet, isn’t it strange, isn’t it weird, how we can KNOW that someone is not behaving in the way we imagine, and at the same time we can be totally convinced that he is!

There are times when you don’t know yourself. There are times when you don’t want to know yourself.

He thought: How difficult it is to explain yourself to yourself. Sometimes there only is, and no knowing.

The thing is, when love is real, whether it’s ebbing or flowing, it’s always there, it never goes away. And that’s the only proof you can have that it is real, and not just a crush or an infatuation or a passing fancy

Adaptation is always the same process for me, which is some version of throwing the book at the wall and seeing what pages fall out.

Let others pride themselves about how many pages they have written; I’d rather boast about the ones I’ve read.

Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.

It seems the best work I do is when I am really allowing the unconscious to rule the page and then later I can go back and hack around and make sense of things.

Between the pages of a book is a lovely place to be.

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I think many poets, including myself, write both for the voice and for the page. I certainly write for the person alone in the library, who pulls down a book and it opens to a poem. I am also very conscious of what it means to read these poems aloud.

The experience of reading a comic should not be the time it takes to turn each page.