You can never tell about a person by guessing...that's why language was invented. Otherwise, we'd all be like dogs, sniffing each other to find out where we stood.

It was as though I had one map inside my head and it led to the man who was waiting for me. Someone who was alone - maybe even more alone - than I was.

Holding a tear back makes them drain upward, higher and higher, until one day your head just explodes and you're left with a stub of a neck and nothing more.

Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones; they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound. Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones. They all led to the story inside the story.

You can be betrayed in your sleep. The whole world can tilt while you're dreaming of butterflies.

I read "The Group" by Mary McCarthy. It had tons of sex in it, or so I thought at the time.

You don't fight for peace sister,' Nahara told me, 'You embrace it.