Eleven Minutes

But what am I saying? In love, no one can harm anyone else; we are each of us responsible for our own feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we feel.

I am two women: one wants to have all the joy, passion and adventure that life can give me. The other wants to be a slave to routine, to family life, to the things that can be planned and achieved. I’m a housewife and a prostitute, both of us living in the same body and doing battle with each other.

She had felt petrified when she saw him coming toward her, terrified that he might realize how much she loved him, how eagerly she had waited for him, how she had dreamed of taking his hand, of walking straight past the school gates with him and continuing along the road to the end, where—people said—there was a big city, film stars and television stars, cars, lots of cinemas, and an endless number of fun things to do.

I can choose either to be a victim of the world or an adventurer in search of treasure. It’s all a question of how I view my life.

Love one another, but let’s not try to possess one another.

Life is too short, or too long, for me to allow myself the luxury of living it so badly

pain and suffering are used to justify the one thing that should bring only joy: love

floating above our own pain.

At the far extremity of pain, she had discovered a door into a different level of consciousness, and there was no room now for anything but implacable nature and her own invincible self.

we feel terrified when happiness becomes a real possibility