I am looking for somebody whose life I can save. The only one who allows me to do that is Angela. And as I save her life, I save my own.

When I say I love you, I am loving me in you.

I want to see new things — and I’ll only manage to do that if I lose my fear of madness.

The cactus is full of rage with fingers all twisted and it’s impossible to caress it: it hates you with each piercing spine because it also feels the pain of the spine that pierced its own thick flesh first.

with this book I, it seems I’m emancipating myself.

I am urgently needing to be born. It’s really hurting me.

I write to bring things into existence and to exist myself.

“There’s a book inside all of us,” they say.

I do without real reality and find comfort in living from my imagination.