The first thing is to love your sport. Never do it to please someone else. It has to be yours.

It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face.

For several long moments we remained locked together, and I think I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories.

Using another as a means of satisfaction and security is not love. Love is never security; love is a state in which there is no desire to be secure; it is a state of vulnerability.

I want to fall in love with something in the way I fell in love with the idea of Harry before I write anything else.

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.