Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.

I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.

...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.

Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.

I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.