I was intelligent enough to make up my own mind. I not only had freedom of choice, I had freedom of expression.

I love my daughter. She and I have shared my body. There is a part of her mind that is a part of mine. But when she was born, she sprang from me like a slippery fish, and has been swimming away ever since.

Writing what you wished was the most dangerous form of wishful thinking.

My mother said I was a clingy kid until I was about four. I also remember that from the age of eight she and I fought almost every day.

A psychiatrist does not want you to wake up. He tells you to dream some more, to find the pond and pour more tears into it. And really, he's just another bird drinking from your misery.

Why do some memories live only on your tongue or in your nose? Why do others always stay in your heart?

I wanted to write stories for myself. At first it was purely an aesthetic thing about craft. I just wanted to become good at the art of something. And writing was very private.