Loneliness as a situation can be corrected$$$ but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness.
If a violin string could ache$$$ I would be that string.
Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.
No matter how far you travel$$$ you can never get away from yourself.
Two people can sleep in the same bed and still be alone when they close their eyes.
There's no such thing as perfect writing$$$ just like there's no such thing as perfect despair.
Deep rivers run quiet.
Memory is like fiction; or else it's fiction that's like memory.
Your work should be an act of love$$$ not a marriage of convenience.
When your feelings build up and harden and die inside$$$ then you're in big trouble.