Home with my Husband

‘Hell is other people'… But that's only that side of the coin. The other side, which no one seems to mention, is also 'Heaven is each other.' ... Hell is separateness, uncommunicability, self-centeredness, lust for power, for riches, for fame. Heaven, on the other hand, is very simple-and very hard: caring about your fellow beings.

Somewhere between 'not enough' and 'not at all. I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it - to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once.

Perhaps it is true that we do not really exist until there is someone there to see us existing, we cannot properly speak until there is someone who can understand what we are saying in essence, we are not wholly alive until we are loved.

Dogs

“...often women aren't allowed to be characters in history, they have to be stereotypes. Cleopatra was a poet and a philosopher, she was incredibly good at maths; she wasn't that much of a looker. But when we think of her, we think: big breasted seductress bathing in milk. Often, even when women have made their mark and they are remembered by history, we are offered a fantasy version of their lives.”

Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy... Sometimes, the men-they come with keys, and sometimes, they come with hammers.

I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven't said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.