I wonder how a lioness will manage in a dovecote. Can you put away your teeth and claws?

I saw the end of his life right there in that single moment. His pride, his decency, his secrets, his death.

She didn't like being twelve. It felt like someplace between who she'd been and who she was about to be. It felt like no place at all.

Good fortune can take forever to get to you, but as it turns out, sorrow is as quick as a shot.

A red map isn't easy to follow. Any document made of blood and bones is tricky. Wrong turns are easily made, and there are often piles of stones in the road. A person has to disregard time and sorrow and all the damage done. If you follow, if you dare, the thread always leads to whomever or whatever you've forgotten.

I feel more influenced in my own work by dreams than I do by other writers' works in a way. Or by popular culture, movies - what else is there to write about than love and loss?

Everything was red, the air, the sun, whatever I looked at. Except for him. I fell in love with someone who was human. I watched him walk through the hills and come back in the evening when his work was through. I saw things no woman would see: that he knew how to cry, that he was alone. I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.