Is devotion to others a cover for the hungers and the needs of the self, of which one is ashamed? I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not virtue. It was a disguise.

Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.

I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension

There is an ugliness in being paid for work one does not like.

I'm awaiting a lover. I have to be rent and pulled apart and live according to the demons and the imagination in me. I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.

You are the only woman who ever answered the demands of my imagination.