Oleander time, she said. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind..

I hated labels anyway. People didn't fit in slots--prostitute, housewife, saint--like sorting the mail. We were so mutable, fluid with fear and desir….

I'm a fish swimming by...catch me if you want me..

What was the point in such loneliness among people. At least if you were by yourself, you had a good reason to be lonely..

I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of ra….

For she is my love, and other women are but big bodies of flame..

I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season..

I almost said, you're not broken, you're just going through something. But i couldn't. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the….

We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental..

I took my mother's knife and played johnny johnny johnny on the playhouse floor. I was drunk, stabbed myself every few throws. I held my hand up and ….

Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author..

The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing..

Now I wish she'd never broken any of her rules. I understood why she held to them so hard. Once you broke the first one, they all broke, one by one, ….

Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair..

I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand..

her scruffy innoscense to impregnate with his dreams. reason was seductive, it gave the appearance of truth.

She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing..

A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself..

Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway..

But that was the thing about zero. Its weakness. Even if zero had taken over the entire universe, the biggest fascist of all, one tiny gesture could ….

I use my fiction to explore my own unconscious issues. I usually don't even know what's going on with me until I'm writing. That doesn't mean my book….