I think, basically, what I'm good for is reading - a lot..

The girl was lighter without her heart. She danced barefoot on the hot roads, and her feet were not cut by the glass or stones that studded her way. ….

The language of [Catholic] mysticism - its repeated attempts to lay consciousness itself bare and speak all the intensely opposing yet interconnected….

Once you let people know anything about what you think, that's it, you're dead. Then they'll be jumping about in your mind, taking things out, holdin….

Like every girl, I only need to look up and a little to the right of me to see the hysteria that belongs to me, the one that hangs om a hook like an ….

I collected pictures and I drew pictures and I looked at the pictures by myself. And because no one else ever saw them, the pictures were perfect and….

I do tend to feel more connected to dead writers, perhaps because they have finished their work..

That's the ideal meeting...once upon a time, only once, unexpectedly, then never again..

Wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. The poem tells me it’s no big deal that I’m not like Snow. I can be another thing; I’m meant….

However awful the storm of my disappointment, it's a response that belongs to me. It's my heart, after all. My territory, my kingdom. And since I'm ….

Because things grow. Wherever there is air and light and open space, things grow..

Would that be dangerous, to not look while being looked at?.

And she walked away, and she walked away, and that was that, and that was that..

It occurred to me that I was unhappy. And it didn’t feel so very terrible. No urgency, nothing. I could slip out of my life on a slow wave like this—….

I feel like an old lady; my hero is Miss Marple..

Please tell me a story about a girl who gets away." I would, even if I had to adapt one, even if I had to make one up just for her. "Gets away from w….

There were days when he touched the tip of her nose and it was enough, a miracle of plenty..

You don’t return people’s smiles—it’s perfectly clear to you that people can smile and smile and still be villains..

I know of witches who whistle at different pitches, calling things that don't have names..

Magic is an exercise of a pattern of thought (sometimes represented by a gesture, ritual, or the calling of a true name) that results in manifestatio….

I love taking things out of context and playing with them and chopping up rules..