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Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false with the true.

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Michael Ondaatje

The first sentence of every novel should be: Trust me, this will take time but there is order here, very faint, very human.

Trust, Order, Firsts, Novel, Sentence
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She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.

Brought, Clarity, Loved, Reason, Shapes

I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently…but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.

Atoms, Believe, Direction, Falling In Love, One Direction, Pedant

There is a story, always ahead of you. Barely existing. Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it. You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character. You will find in this way the path of your life.

Character, Stories, Tests, Feed, Way

Everyone has to scratch on walls somewhere or they go crazy

Crazy, Everyone, Scratches, Wall, Walls

We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.

Relationship, Book, Believe, Marked, Fears, Tribes
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