It was her first book, an indigo cover with a silver moonflower, an art nouveau flower, I traced my finger along the silver line like smoke, whiplash….

Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hope….

The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way..

If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration..

She would buy magic every day of the week. Love me, that face said. I'm so lonely, so desperate. I'll give you whatever you want..

Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up..

So much wanting and longing, clutching, desiring, passion and hatred and terrible need. Here, death was suitable, there was room for it, the grip of ….

history only existed in the human mind, subject to endless revision. 'each man kills the thing he loves'-Oscar Wilde. You kill it before it kills you….

His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were li….

When you started thinking it was easy, you were forgetting what it cost..

There is no God, there is only what you want..

Kindness was the last thing she needed. She had to stay in the icy place, the numb place, and their warmth threatened to melt her just when she neede….

I wondered why it had to be so poisonous. Oleanders could live through anything, they could stand heat, drought, neglect, and put out thousands of wa….

I imagined Kandinsky's mind, spread out all over the world, and then gathered together. Everyone having only a piece of the puzzle. Only in a show li….

Death like a lover, caressing him, promising him peace, running its fingers through his hair, its tongue in his ear. She put her own two fingers in h….

It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars..

In our exterior life, we can be only one person. But in our imagination, we can be anyone, anywhere..

You were my home, Mother. I had no home but you.

She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad..

If evil means to be self-motivated, to be the center of one’s own universe, to live on one’s own terms, then every artist, every thinker, every origi….

He reminded me of someone who put your fingers in the door and smiled and talked to you while he smashed them..