We have bottled all the stars this evening, my young friend.
In a thousand years time this day will have existed for a thousand years to the day. And the ignorance of the whole world about what they've said today will have a date too.
I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot know. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. I have time. Please, devour me. Deform me to the point of ugliness. Why not you? Why not you in this city and in this night, so like other cities and other nights you can hardly tell the difference? I beg of you.
The best way to fill time is to waste it.
A book consists of two layers: on top, the readable layer. . . and underneath, a layer that was inaccessible. You only sense its existence in a moment of distraction from the literal reading, the way you see childhood through a child. It would take forever to tell what you see, and it would be pointless.
I've known you for years. Everyone says you were beautiful when you were young, but I want to tell you I think you're more beautiful now than then. Rather than your face as a young woman, I prefer your face as it is now. Ravaged.
Very early in my life it was too late.
Malala Day is not my day. Today is the day of every woman, every boy and every girl who have raised their voice for their rights
Although fear in the right dosage and under the right circumstance protects us. . . imaginary fear offers straitjackets instead of lifejackets, nooses instead of safety nets.
Vitality is a woman is a blind fury of creation.
Are you OLD?" "No. I'm only twelve. But I've been that for a long time.