Can anyone remember love? It's like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar. You might see a rose, but never the perfume.

Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be … when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am.

I speak my own sins; I cannot judge another. I have no tongue for it.

Be liked and you will never want.

The very impulse to write springs from an inner chaos crying for order - for meaning.

What work you do! It's strange work for a Christian girl to hang old women!

Pop, I'm nothing! I'm nothing, Pop. Can't you understand that? There's no spite in it any more. I'm just what I am, that's all.