“Imperceptibly, more time passes when I'm not remembering our every moment together, not recreating our every conversation, re-imagining our love-making. It is immeasurably sad.”

“It is so exquisitely funny and sad, the way we view each other; how very little, despite our best efforts, we communicate.”

“Very quickly I begin to understand the selfishness of my love, the inappropriateness of my relationships, when I realise that every time I fuck it feels as if I am wrestling with demons.”

“I'm hurling all the little joys against the greater sadness. The sadness is a giant weight. It presses down. Its mean: "What's the point?”

“Love could be fractured and serve different purposes, and that intense love could be divided, between people just as easily as between moments of time.”

“When you talk about love, and family, invariably too you are talking about compassion. This would include the notion that we are all just lumped together, and tolerance is a virtue.”

“We are all, I realise, even as I write this, merely moving closer to our deaths. At the end of this sentence I am closer to mine than I was at the beginning. It's relentless. It's a savage thing. And yet for a long time I've carried with me a sense of life opening out. Evidently it's some kind of protective illusion.”