“My pen knows what to do. I close my eyes and I see this girl who glows. A girl who radiates. When she smiles, she beams. She warms my heart. I open my eyes with a feeling of floating past all the garbage around me. I will emerge unscathed because I will not endeavor to hide myself from whatever is coming. Bring on the worst. I welcome it with open arms.”

“Sam looked at me soft. And she hugged me. And I closed my eyes because I wanted to know nothing but her arms. And she kissed my cheek and whispered so nobody could hear.
"I love you.”

“When I close my eyes, a strange thought comes to my mind. Who am I, what is my existence, this question comes again and again in my mind, I start looking for answers to my questions, time starts passing through me, then somewhere a golden ray starts appearing, when I see that ray I feel relaxed, slowly my eyes open, when I start getting answers to my questions.”

“I said to my girl, "The reason you have a key (to my house) is to keep me from having other women in my house. I give you an open invitation." See, she wants me to go, "Because I love you and I trust you, and I want you to trust me." It's because the fear of my girl walking in will keep me from having a young broad sitting on top of my counter. But she wants that to be because I love her so much, but it's just to protect me from my own manness.”

“Don't open that door," she said. "The hallway is full of difficult dreams." And I asked her: "How do you know?" And she told me: "Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart.”

“If I had stopped to listen once or twice
If I had closed my mouth and opened my eyes
If I had cooled my head and warmed my heart
I'd not be on this road tonight.”

“My mother and I have this really strangely close relationship. No other relationship can come close to it. It's frightening. Even when I'm in a relationship with a man, I compare it to my relationship with my mother. She is a friend, but she is still a mother, and everything a mother needs to be, she is. She is really observing and caring and doesn't want anything but giving because it's her joy. Even when I can't bear anybody, not even myself, she 's like the sun coming up to me. She dedicated all her life to me. Sometimes I feel that she gave her life to me and now it's my job to maybe take her somewhere. But what is it she doesn't know? She knows things I couldn't begin to know. Yet she is so fresh with ideas which I already take for granted. She sometimes wakes me up and says, 'Don't you see?”

“Seventy-six years old," she whispers, "and I can still feel like this? Like a little girl with stars in my eyes?”

“Every day starts, my eyes open and I reload the program of misery. I open my eyes, remember who I am, what I'm like, and I just go, "Ugh" …"”

“I always feel sad for the girl that I was, because it never occurred to me that my mother might comfort me. She has never told me she loved me, and I never assumed she did. She tended to me. She administrated me.”