You carry away with you a reflection of me, a part of me. I dreamed you; I wished for your existence. You will always be a part of my life. If I love you, it must be because we shared, at some moment, the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage.

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Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me. I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

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My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.

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We are never trapped unless we choose to be.

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We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made of layers, cells, constellations.

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Don't let one cloud obliterate the whole sky.

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Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.

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The only transformer and alchemist that turns everything into gold is love. The only magic against death, aging, ordinary life, is love.

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I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.

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You cannot save people. You can only love them.

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