Top Highlights

• When I got home to my flat I interpreted everything she said and did in the course of a school day, and that either sent me into the deepest vale of misery or up onto the highest peak of elation – there was nothing in between.
• Who cares about politics when there are flames licking at your insides?
• once again recognised that clear, pure sensation that arose with approaching intoxication, yet still hadn’t arrived, and the desire to pursue it that always followed.
• You know too little and it doesn’t exist. You know too much and it doesn’t exist. Writing is drawing the essence of what we know out of the shadows. That is what writing is about. Not what happens there, not what actions are played out there, but the there itself. There, that is writing’s location and aim. But how to get there?
• August Strindberg once claimed in his profound, deranged seriousness that the stars in the sky were peepholes in a wall.