Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.

I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.

Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.

And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.