All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.

Death's in the good-bye.

For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.

Somebody who should have been born is gone.

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.

The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.