I Don't Think You Will Ever Fully

The Truth Is Simple, You Do Not Die From Love. You Only Wish You Did.

It Took Me Years To Learn To Sit At My Desk For More Than Two Minutes At A Time, To Put Up With The Solitude And The Terror Of Failure, And The Godawful Silence And The White Paper.

Fame Is Merely The Fact Of Being Misunderstood By Millions Of People.

I Remember Everything But Forgive Anyway.

But Come Back In November Or December, In February Or March, When The Fog, La Nebbia, Settles Upon The City Like A Marvelous Monster, And You Will Have Little Trouble Believing That Things Can Appear And Disappear In This Labyrinthine City, Or That Time Here Could Easily Slip In Its Sprockets And Take You, Willingly Or Unwillingly, Back.